


Computer, End Program

by AsgardianAngels



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Discussion of Julian's genetic enhancements, Episode: s04e10 Our Man Bashir, First Kiss, Holodecks/Holosuites, Hologram Garak, Holosuite Spy Adventures, Julian Bashir Secret Agent, Julian POV (mostly), M/M, gratuitous use of real historic events for spy plots, look julian's just got a lot to figure out ok, lots of angsty julian introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngels/pseuds/AsgardianAngels
Summary: With no one around to play sidekick in the latest installment of Julian Bashir, Secret Agent, our beloved doctor takes matters into his own hands. What he isn't expecting is just how much a holoprogram - and a holo-Garak - can teach him about himself. Is he brave enough to use what he's learned as a fake spy to sweep the real one off his feet?Set mid-season 5.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 45
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I am excited to post this story, as it's by far the longest thing I've ever written and it's been in the works for over two months (I should be writing my Master's thesis but this happened instead, whoops). Somehow I keep writing Julian POV even though it's more challenging for me, and this takes the cake.  
> I've always struggled a little bit with scenarios where Julian and Garak get together during the series run because they both have so much to work through, and realistically I always thought that the real, necessary introspection wouldn't occur until post-canon. But this is one take on how all that might happen halfway through the series, given where he is emotionally at that point - so be prepared for several thousand words of angsty Julian self-reflection in the later chapters!  
> I did way too much research on the 1960s political climate for this fic; the spy plots are background dressing at best and yet 80% of my time went into making them as historically accurate as possible, right down to scrolling Nixon's original dinner guest list. Have mercy on me.
> 
> I neglected to plan for a multi-chapter fic so I apologize if some of the chapter breaks lack flow, I did what I could to chop up one big mass of text.
> 
> This fic has art by the lovely Ecto-Geo (plain-and-simple-tailor)! See chapter 4 for details.
> 
> Further notes can be found at the other chapters. I hope you enjoy!

Julian barreled down the busy city street, narrowly avoiding collisions left and right with marketgoers and stalls piled high with exotic fruits and spices. Behind him three more gunshots rang out, and a sharp clang of bullet on metal next to his ear told him he needed to make himself scarce, and fast. In the panic, he managed to slip unnoticed through the throngs of scattering civilians, dark suit letting him melt into the shadows that cloaked the alleyways. Julian darted down a narrow one and pressed his back against the cool bricks, steadying his breathing as he saw two silhouettes dart past the mouth of the alley and continue on into the night. He slumped, setting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath from the chase. When his heart had slowed, he dipped his hand into his breast pocket and pulled out a shining silver key. Turning it over in his fingers, the curves of its ornate design glinted in the faint rays of moonlight that pierced the cloudcover.

Julian chuckled in satisfaction, and turned to proudly display his prize to his compatriot – except, he remembered as the smile slipped from his face, he was alone. A stray cat slinked about at the far end of the alleyway, noiselessly squeezing through a hole in the chainlink fence and continuing its nightly prowl. Julian sighed, and nestled the key securely back in his suit pocket. Despite playing the titular character, _Julian Bashir, Secret Agent_ just wasn’t as fun without his trusty sidekick. These days he had his pick of partners, as he’d turned all of Ops onto the program. But truth be told, the one he enjoyed most was the toughest to convince. While Garak would gladly accompany him for lunch in Stuttgart, Rio de Janeiro, or Hong Kong, getting him to run through a whole episode of the program with him was alas a rare treat for the young doctor. Julian found himself almost missing the obligatory snide comment or disgruntled huff when the game’s holo-women thanked him so enthusiastically for saving their lives. It all seemed too easy otherwise, no pushback, no challenge to subvert expectations. When he was with Garak, it was as if he were playing the game both with and against him, daring himself to outsmart the real spy, to impress him even. It added a strange thrill to the whole business, more genuine than outrunning hired guns or stealing priceless artifacts. Felix, talented though he was, could never engineer a program able to conjure up a man like Elim Garak.

…Or could he?

Julian strode briskly down the alleyway until he came upon a heavy bolted door in an otherwise unassuming row of buildings. He rapped his knuckles purposefully against the iron three times and waited.

A gruff voice said, “Fate smiles on us today, don’t you agree?”

Bashir leaned in close and responded, “For the carrion-bird indeed, but not the white dove.”

After a pause, he heard locks turning down the length of the door. It opened to reveal a dimly lit corridor, and the door guard – a broad-shouldered fellow sporting a bit of gray scruff – ushered him onwards, watching him closely.

“You’ll find Gunther down there.” The man looked him over. “Thought there were gonna be two of you.”

Julian pursed his lips. “My colleague...should be along shortly.” He gave the man a curt nod and made his way down the corridor. He passed several empty rooms on either side of him, and thinking quickly, ducked into one of them and gingerly closed the door without making much noise.

“Computer,” he said to the empty air, “freeze program.”

Nothing visibly changed, but Julian’s acute hearing noticed that the faint dripping of water from leaky pipes in the hallway had stopped.

This next part of the story was going to get more complicated – and physically demanding – so now would be a good time to call for backup. But Miles was looking after Molly while Keiko was on Bajor, and Garak insisted he had a commission due tomorrow which took priority over Julian’s pleas for a playmate in one of his “ridiculous excuses for an intelligence operation.” He knew Garak spouted his insults without any venom, especially since he’d walked in on the tailor completely engrossed in his work, hemming a dress sleeve at a furious pace.

He toyed with the thought for a bit, rolling it around like words on his tongue before making the call.

“Computer...create custom character.”

“Please specify parameters,” the female voice echoed.

“Search station personnel files for Elim Garak.” He enunciated the name clearly so there would be no mistake.

“File for Elim Garak located. Would you like to specify further parameters?”

The personnel file would contain information on Garak’s yearly physicals, the mandatory psych eval Julian administered after the removal of his implant, any personal logs he’d recorded (doubtful), declassified mission debriefs, relevant security reports or footage the Constable may have tagged with his name, and on a deeper, encrypted level, all records of their previous traipses in the secret agent program. The holosuite databanks monitored the vitals of each participant in order to activate safety protocols when needed, and kept detailed registers of the movements and reactions of all players – including, importantly, speech patterns – to ensure the program and its characters responded realistically to novel situations. From this, the computer should be able to build at least a passable facsimile of his scaled companion. But… it could use just a little something extra. Just in case. Julian would be remiss if this clone lacked the unmistakable twinkle in his eye that, when directed at him by the real Garak, sent a shiver up Julian’s spine he never quite allowed himself to dwell on.

“Actually, yes. Computer, open digital library and load all available Cardassian literature.”

For several seconds there was silence as the system worked. There must have been more left in the databanks from the days of Terok Nor than Julian realized. Not that he doubted for a second that Garak hasn’t read them all anyways.

When the computer had finished, Julian also rattled off a list of all the Terran novels he’d exchanged with Garak over the last few years – the man should be cultured, after all.

These measures should at least make the duplicate able to hold a believable conversation about his Cardassian heritage, though he’d lack many specific details of his own secretive past. Besides, Julian just wanted a crime-fighting partner; he didn’t want to spend the little free time he had waxing philosophical or getting trapped in an hour-long debate about the intricacies of Cardassian sociopolitical structure. He certainly wasn’t looking for another scathing rebuke on how these “playdates” of his were a joke compared to the real-life machinations of the Obsidian Order. That was all well and good anywhere but here, in Julian’s fantasy escape. No, just a plain, simple Garak would do.

Satisfied, he stated, “Parameters specified.”

“Please specify role for custom character.”

He didn’t want this Garak to be a part of the story. He needed him to be moderately self-aware. Though, he chuckled to himself, seeing Garak play Falcon for once would be something he’d never forget – and something the real Garak would rather be shot out of an airlock than be subjected to. He shook his head fondly and pushed the entertaining thought to the back of his mind.

“Player two.”

A series of mechanical chirps as the system incorporated his command.

“Activate character ‘Elim Garak,’” Julian said, unable to hide the hint of a playful smile dancing at the edges of his lips.

In the empty space of the room before him, the hologram appeared. It was Garak, dressed in a matching tux with hands clasped behind his back. He wore a neutral expression, the single, harsh overhead light casting long shadows over his Cardassian features. He was staring in Julian’s direction, but seemed to look blankly through him rather than at him. Waiting for the final command that would grant him life.

Even if this failed spectacularly, Julian figured if nothing else the extra set of hands would at least allow him to make it to the end of the program. He couldn’t take on all the thugs by himself, and admittedly Garak was powerfully built – all Cardassians were – despite rarely using it. He momentarily recalled their last adventure, where Garak fought them out of a corner with an uppercut and left hook to Falcon’s cronies. At the memory, he felt a flush creep into his cheeks. He decidedly ignored it.

_Well, here goes nothing._

“Computer… resume program.”

The distant drip began again, and in front of Julian, holo-Garak took his first breath. His shoulders shifted beneath his suit, and he blinked a few times before swiveling his head to take in his surroundings, eye ridges raised inquisitively. His gaze finally settled on Julian, this time intelligent. There it was – that mischievous glint that inexplicably tied his stomach in knots. He owed Felix a drink for the upgrades he’d installed into the system’s character-coding algorithms that made this level of realism possible. 

“My dear doctor, a pleasure as always,” Garak enthused, pleasant smile on his face. “Would you care to fill me in on our current predicament?”

Julian exhaled, scratching the back of his neck. “Where do I _start_ …”

He had, of course, assigned _Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy_ as reading material to his friend at the first chance he got after the incident with the implant. Garak had not been quite as amused as Julian at the insinuation of any resemblance. Still, it should provide the historical context he needed for this mission.

Garak awaited his response patiently, polite smile still plastered on.

“Well, we’re about to head down that hallway and do a prisoner exchange, for starters. Gunther – he’s our contact – he wants something I have.” With that, Julian held up the key for Garak to see. “This key opens a stolen safe, which contains the priceless family jewels of one Nina Khrushchev, wife of First Secretary Khrushchev, leader of the Soviet Union Communist Party. That is to say, a very important man. Those men out there, they’re part of a splinter group hell-bent on getting Sweden involved in the Cold War, on the side of the communists. They intend on using the jewels to blackmail Mrs. Khrushchev into coercing her husband to step down from his post. Playing with fire, of course.” He paused to catch his breath. Garak’s expression remained placid, seemingly haven taken the information in stride, so Julian continued. “Good for us, MI6 intercepted the safe on its way to Hong Kong and swapped it out for one that was identical in every way except the contents.”

“And pray tell,” said Garak, “what does this new safe contain?”

Julian flashed him a grin. “My dear Mr. Garak, it contains a bomb.”

“Ah, but of course. I should have guessed,” Garak replied, a note of sarcasm in his voice.

“The Swedes are holding someone of interest to us – the lovely and talented Ms. Virginia R. Wilder, one of MI6’s most accomplished translators. She speaks eleven languages,” Julian added.

Garak cocked an eye ridge, unimpressed. “Of interest to you, perhaps.”

There it was. The response Julian had, just maybe, secretly hoped for. Why did it excite him? Did he just enjoy getting under Garak’s skin? He filed the conundrum away quietly for later. There was, as always, a fair chance it would get lost in the pile of new thoughts tumbling in at any given second.

Garak shifted on his feet, looking rather impatient. “So tell me then, what precisely is our plan? I assume the bomb is meant for the Swedes, and not for us or your female companion.”

“Oh of course. We’re going to go in there, play along, and the second the exchange has taken place, we break script and high-tail it out of there before the building comes down.”

“I’m to follow your lead then, nothing more?” Even this Garak was loathe to be relegated to supporting role.

“No, no, you’re vital,” Julian lauded. “I’ll need you to ensure our hostage is escorted safely, and once I activate the bomb all hell’s going to break loose, so we’ll both have our hands full taking out Gunther’s henchmen.”

Garak folded his arms across his chest. “I see, so I am both bodyguard and valet service. Filling the role of the late Ms. Luvsitt. Well, I hope I can live up to her reputation and be half the eye candy she was.” He strode coolly past Julian and exited the room, leaving Julian to scramble to catch the door before it shut loudly and gave them away. What was all that about? And what kind of comment –

Julian grabbed Garak by the arm and yanked him back near the door. “You can’t just go out there! I’m not done yet. The bomb’s got a thirty second timer, which means –”

“Yes, yes, I think I’ve heard all I need to know,” said Garak, exasperated. “My job is to cover you and keep our party alive, it’s nothing new Doctor. Now I doubt they’ll wait forever, so we might as well get on with it.”

Julian stared him down. This Garak was so realistic it was getting on his nerves. Maybe he should have been less thorough when constructing him, as he could do without some of the grating sarcasm and pretentious, acerbic wit at a time like this. He wondered how Garak ever functioned in the Obsidian Order when it seemed like he had no qualms firing back at any command doled out by those he deemed incompetent to lead, which was likely a long list. He tried not to think about what Enabran Tain must have put Garak through to mold him into the perfect operative: independent yet obedient, wickedly innovative but subservient to a recognized master, self-preserving but living to serve. He shuddered a little at the thought. Maybe it was less about playing sidekick than it was feeling… helpless. For all his cleverness and conviction, his life and purpose lay at the whim of another, afforded only the illusion of control over his fate. Just a tool, one small piece on a kotra board, shuffled around by those who saw an opportunity to exploit your strengths and hold you captive to your weaknesses. Every upper hand, every favor, every time Garak could stay two steps ahead, offered another tiny shred of autonomy he could hoard for later. Julian could relate to the disillusionment of a life which amounted to that of a lab rat running through a predetermined maze. _No cheese at the end, just an endless string of crumbs along the way. No reward or praise from the ones who matter, no freedom. Only more twists and turns, but onwards you go, with that faint hope..._ But no one could ever know about that, not even Garak.

Alright, fine… perhaps he could try and make this a little more fulfilling for him – _hold on! This wasn’t even Garak. It’s a_ hologram _, Julian. You’re not hurting anyone’s feelings._ Still, if the hologram was going to pout like the real Garak, it’d be easier on Julian to treat him as such and improve the mood.

“Look,” Julian muttered, letting go of Garak’s suit. “I’m not trying to sideline you, I promise.”

Garak raised his chin so he met Julian eye to eye, and glowered at him skeptically.

“I’m sure I could do this program myself if I really wanted to. I could set the difficulty level lower, muscle my way through. But I don’t want to. I… _brought_ you here because it’s more fun with you around. You’re my right-hand man. My partner.” He smiled apologetically. _You’re saying sorry to a hologram._ So be it, but… did Garak actually feel this way? He couldn’t help but wonder. If it was built into his character to act like this, then could it be one of the reasons Garak was so reluctant to play the game with him? What other parts of Garak’s inner psyche had carried over?

It was a lot to think about, and it would have to wait. Holo-Garak was right; Gunther and his gang weren’t patient men. At his words, Garak seemed to finally relax, and brightened a bit.

“Well then, I believe we have a transaction to make,” Garak extolled. “MI6 can count on us, _partner_.”

He waved a hand forward and Julian led them on through the inky pools of shadow cloaking the long hallway. They could see the opening to a brightly lit room directly ahead, and as they approached, Julian silently motioned to stop.

“Before we go in there,” he whispered, “just be aware that this is the only way in and out.” Garak nodded. “Assume that as soon as I touch the jewels, I’ve activated the bomb, and count down from there.” They shared one last look, and straightening, they strode confidently in step into the light. The room opened before them, and once their eyes adjusted they could pick out several brusque-looking men lining the perimeter. Among them was Falcon, who apparently would throw in with anyone if it meant a chance to face off against his arch rival.

“He sure gets around,” Garak mumbled, reading Julian’s mind.

“Gentlemen, how good of you to join us,” came a voice echoing through the room. It bore a heavy, almost comically generic Northern European accent. Julian gave Felix quite a lot of leeway when it came to certain aspects of the game, a fair trade for the lovingly rendered damsels in distress. A tall, chiseled man with sandy hair and an expensive suit stepped forward into the center of the room, arms wide in greeting. “You must be Mr. Bashir, I’m glad we can finally meet in person. And your friend here is…?”

He threw Garak a sideways glance. “This is Mr. Garak.”

“Ah. A pleasure as well.” Gunther clapped his hands together. “Well, now that we’re all here, let us get down to business. You have what I requested, yes?”

‘Request’ was an interesting way of putting it, seeing as a direct threat had been issued to MI6 headquarters not three days prior. Julian produced the silver key from his pocket and displayed it for Gunther to see.

“Excellent. Sven,” he called, and one of the stern-faced men delivered a small, square lockbox, placing it on the table separating the two of them.

“I trust that you also have what we requested,” said Julian. Gunther held up a finger to be patient, and after several seconds, they heard the clack of heels on the stone floor. Ms. Wilder was ushered into the light, accompanied closely by another henchman. Her hands were tied, but she seemed in otherwise good condition.

“I hope you’ll find that she meets with your satisfaction, Mr. Bashir.”

Julian looked her over, and it seemed Garak’s eyes were on him as he did so. He nodded in approval.

“Then we are in agreement.” Gunther signaled to bring the woman forth. “If you would open the safe.”

Julian stepped up to the table, while Garak made his way over to where they were ready to release Ms. Wilder. He slowly inserted the key into the lock and turned, hearing the click of the mechanism inside. Allowing Gunther to get a good view, he opened the door of the coffer and exhibited the glittering jewels. “There. Now if you would…”

Gunther broke into a grin. “Hans, release her. I’ll miss you, darling.” He winked in her direction, as she began an unsteady march towards Garak.

Julian watched them both closely, hand hovering above the center gem, a luxurious gold-inset sapphire brooch.

“I have to thank you, Bashir. You’re going to help us make history. My great homeland has remained silent for too long, but now all that will change. The way Khrushchev fumbled Cuba cannot be forgiven. We must have a stronger hand to rule. If no one will take action then we will! The Soviet Union will expand its borders and usher in a new age of prosperity for Sweden and the western world.”

Garak reached out both hands and caught Wilder as she stumbled, weakened from captivity. He shot Julian a quick look, and Julian purposefully pressed his thumb against the jewel. It depressed slightly into its casing upon his touch, and when he released it, a conspicuous pulsing _beep_ began. He hastily took the jewelry and shoved them into Gunther’s hands as the man, wide-eyed, realized his mistake.

“You think killing me will end this?” Gunther snarled. “The plan is already in motion, you’re too late!” He threw the gems to the ground and violently motioned to his men to spring into action. “See to it they don’t make it out of here alive! The girl too!”

Gunther’s lackeys charged at them in a blur of limbs. One lunged with his full weight at Garak, who protectively sheltered Wilder behind him as he caught the man by the shoulders and kneed him hard in the stomach, sending him careening backwards into the wall.

_Twenty seconds._

Falcon whipped out his pistol and fired off a round at Bashir, who ducked under the table.

In the chaos, Gunther, still seething, shouted, “The general’s wife will die for this, you sealed her fate! Word has already been sent to our friends in the KGB, the coup will go forward as planned. Khrushchev is on his way to Moscow. You see, agent?” He cackled maniacally, “Either way you lose! You cannot be two places at once!”

Having efficiently dispatched the other men, Garak wrenched Falcon’s arm upwards as he fired another round, sending plaster raining down around them. Taken by surprise, Falcon had no time to defend himself from the sharp elbow that collided with his nose with a sickening crunch. He collapsed to the ground clutching his face and received a prompt kick to the head that left him sprawled unconscious.

 _Ten seconds._ They had to go.

“Garak!” Julian shouted. He made for the exit when Gunther hurled himself at him with a roar of fury, locking his elbow around Julian’s throat. As he gasped for air, he felt Gunther seize, and the man’s body went limp and fell to the floor. Stumbling backwards, he saw the glint of a blade protruding from Gunther’s back. Garak came and swiftly recovered the knife and used it to break Wilder’s bonds, then hastily shoved it back into his belt and hurried them down the hall. As they ran, Julian looked over and saw that Garak was holding the woman’s hand as he pulled her along behind him. _That should be me_. The aberrant thought raced through his mind and was gone as he heard gunfire echo down the corridor. The doorguard blocked their way, defending his post.

“Oh, we don’t have time for this,” Garak groaned, and pushing aside his suit jacket revealed a revolver which he cocked, aimed, and fired in motion with practiced ease. _Damn,_ was the only word Julian’s brain could form for the moment. The guard crumpled and the three of them rushed past, Garak throwing his weight against the door, which flew open and flung them into the chilly night air. No sooner had they cleared the exit than, with a terrible rumble and crash, the building exploded, the shockwave reverberating through Julian’s chest and sending them toppling to the pavement. The blast sent bricks and sharp debris flying over their heads, and they ducked for cover.

Thanks to the holosuite safeties (which he had relaxed but not completely deactivated), Julian was spared any real damage. However, as they got to their feet, he noticed that the program hadn’t extended that safety net to Garak. Dark blood stained the front of his tux, and more was smudged near his mouth. Julian felt compelled to watch as Garak wiped it away with the back of his hand. Garak glanced down and tutted to himself upon seeing the mess.

“Don’t worry Doctor,” he said with nonchalance, “the blood isn’t mine. Most of it at least.”

They looked each other over, and finally turned to their guest. Ms. Wilder was a bit worse for the wear, having likely rolled her ankle while sprinting in heels, but she hobbled up to Julian looking awfully grateful.

“I don’t know how to thank you Agent,” she said, voice silky. She stood before him expectantly. Julian knew exactly what he was supposed to do next, but for some reason it now seemed impolite to do so with Garak nearby. Usually he had no qualms with this part of the program – in fact, it was often his favorite part – and since he knew it peeved Garak it was all the more fun. Yet, he seemed almost torn, like he was… what? Showing off? Rubbing it in? _Cheating_ , came a whisper from a dark corner of his mind. This was ridiculous. He made this holocharacter to have fun, and he kept feeling guilty at the prospect of upsetting it somehow. No, he came here to enjoy himself, and damn if he wasn’t going to get his reward.

He laid a hand on Wilder’s cheek, tracing his thumb across her flawless skin. _Go on then old boy, lay on the charm_. But as he leaned in, his eyes darted up briefly to see Garak standing several feet behind her, averting his gaze.

Sheepishly, Julian ended up giving her one chaste kiss and then released her. She looked a bit disappointed, but smiled graciously. He considered Garak again, who returned his gaze this time.

“Mission accomplished,” Garak declared, positively sullen. He clasped his hands in front of him, as if awaiting his next assignment.

Julian couldn’t bring himself to respond for a moment. His confidence wavered, and suddenly he no longer felt like _Julian Bashir, Secret Agent_ , but like an ordinary man, one who’d just let someone down. Someone whose opinions meant more to him than he’d been willing to admit. He felt very small indeed.

“We, um, still need to save Nina,” he muttered. “By the time we reach the airbase they’ll have a jet for us.”

“I see.” Garak nodded solemnly. “Well, we should get a move on, no time to waste.”

Julian turned to Virginia. “You should be safe here now. Someone from MI6 will come and find you.”

“Thank you again Agent. You truly are Britain’s finest.” She kissed him on the cheek and then backed away, going over to sit against the wall and wait for rescue.

He approached Garak timidly. “You, um, still want to come, don’t you?” Garak’s expression remained neutral. “They’ll have new clothes on the plane,” he added, pointing halfheartedly at the bloodstained suit.

Garak at last pursed his lips and regarded him carefully. “A tantalizing offer, I’ll admit. The question is, do you want me along?”

Julian furrowed his brows. Hadn’t they just been through this? Why was Garak so hung up on it? “Yes, I really actually do.”

“Through it all?”

Were they… still talking about the game? Julian tested the waters. “Do you?” _Want me along, as well? It’s seemed to me you do fine on your own._

 _Besides,_ he thought, _most people get sick of me soon enough. Strange that you haven’t…right?_

“Always.” Soft, but sure.

Julian swallowed, and wanted to squirm under the naked scrutiny of the truth. His mind was running away with him. This isn’t Garak, it’s a hologram, and inevitably one with glitches and programming gaps that would lead to anomalous behavioral patterns. It would be foolish of him to take any of this seriously.

Still, he reached out and rested a hand on Garak’s arm. “Partners, remember?” A hesitant smile teased at the corners of his lips. Garak sighed in defeat, returning the smile.

Luckily, but not coincidentally, the airbase was only half a mile away, and so they dusted themselves off and strolled down the alleyway onto the quiet street. In the moonlight, Julian thought he could see a glimpse of that telltale twinkle return to Garak’s eye. And if he also thought that maybe, the mica-thin scales that flanked his temple glittered ever so faintly in that pale light, like oil on water, like _art_ , well, he kept it to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter are a bit short, due to natural breaks in the story, but the rest are more regular.

Time worked differently in the holoprogram, both for the sake of keeping the action rolling and to ensure Julian could finish before Quark would charge him for another hour. For example, a flight from Hong Kong to Moscow should take in the ballpark of half a day. Instead, Julian and Garak settled into their seats for some light conversation in the ten minutes they actually had. Garak had in fact changed into a clean tux, and was resting comfortably in one of the cushioned seats by the window. He insisted on having a view outside, so Julian took the middle seat, his lanky legs crossed rather ungainly. He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against his knee as the jet – private and expensive, because MI6 apparently had the resources to burn and a need to let the world know it – lifted off from the runway.

The adrenaline from their action-packed escape had subsided, and a flood of jumbled thoughts and emotions washed over Julian. He had no idea the innocent act of making a holographic version of his friend to accompany him through the program would become so… _confusing_. Why this Garak and not the real one would invoke such startling introspection was a point of mystery to him. His train of thought, having just started chugging along on this dangerous track, was suddenly interrupted.

“Tell me something,” Garak mused, turning briefly from his view of the pre-dawn glow over the Tibetan Plateau, “I thought Felix designed these adventures such that one of the two female protagonists would always die.”

“Well, yes,” Julian replied. “But, after a while, I was looking for more of a challenge, and especially given the incident involving the crew, I asked Felix to make it so it was possible to save both women if you were clever enough.”

Garak scoffed playfully. “Turning down the safeties, putting not one but two lives in your hands… my dear Doctor, perhaps the kind of challenge you’re looking for exists outside the holosuites altogether. By all means, take a runabout into the Gamma Quadrant and stir up some trouble, I assure you you’ll find the excitement you seek.”

Julian rolled his eyes and they fell into a companionable silence. Before he knew it, they’d touched down in Moscow, its gray morning skies foreboding the deeds about to be done.

“So where are we going?” Garak inquired, as the jet rolled down the runway of Vnukovo Airport. “To the home of Mrs. Khrushchev, or shall we stay here once we disembark to prevent the coup?”

It was the 12th of October, and the General would be surrounded by KGB guards when he arrived for a special meeting to be held at their very location.

“Nina’s house.”

Garak tilted his head in surprise.

They got up from their seats and began to make their way to the front of the plane. Julian glanced back at him as they walked. “The power struggle that takes place here today is a part of Earth history, it’s meant to happen. Changing history was never the goal of this game, there’s no satisfying win to be had there. The general’s wife, on the other hand, isn’t supposed to die at the hands of Swedish communists. We save her, and we can call it a day and celebrate our victory with a bottle of Dom Pérignon.” He shot Garak a wry smile as he turned the corner and descended the stairs onto the tarmac.

It all went spectacularly, if Julian may say so himself. They intercepted the hitmen right in the nick of time, and had far too much fun giving them a taste of their own medicine. Garak sent one of them flying out the second story window with a devilish sort of glee. Julian was grateful that Felix hadn’t programmed the wife of the Secretary General to throw herself at him when all was said and done, and so having completed their mission he and Garak slipped away to enjoy a few moments of peace before the holoprogram ended.

They strolled down the bustling Moscow street, looking frightfully out of place with their scuffed-up tuxes though the passersby seemed to pay them no mind. They found a secluded corner and rested their backs against a cement wall, taking in the scenery.

Garak hummed low in contentment. “This turned out to be more pleasurable than I’d initially expected. I’ll admit, taking down those men was delightfully cathartic.”

“Why the change of heart? You usually never much like coming here with me. You think it’s a waste of time.”

“Well, it’s no Engima Tale, that’s for sure,” Garak said, a teasing smile flashing across his features. “But… it has its merits.” He would say no more on it.

Julian watched him, head held high, almost majestic in profile as his clear blue eyes followed a group of children chasing each other in the street with veiled curiosity. A crisp breeze fluttered by and momentarily lifted a few stray hairs from their meticulously combed-back place into the air. Julian realized that he rarely let himself gaze at Garak like this, without necessity, without concern for time or the scolding looks he’d surely receive in return for failing to adhere to social mores. Knowing it was just a hologram – a realistic one though it was – somehow was releasing him from these constraints. Not that he thought there wouldn’t be consequences, at least in the game, for the way he treated this Garak, but at the same time he didn’t feel like he was about to be chastised for misbehavior like he so often was by his friends and colleagues in the real world. In here, it was like he couldn’t lose. It was all a role to play with predictable expectations, and was the only place he knew exactly what he was supposed to do, supposed to _be_ , and could execute it perfectly. The answers always came to him.

Now he could tell there was more here, he could feel it right on the tip of his tongue. And it seemed like every time he was getting close to solving that puzzle, something got in the way – whether it be work, a Dominion invasion, or a delectably distracting Dabo girl, in equal measure. It was as if he allowed himself to be diverted, sought it out even, to avoid some uncomfortable truth about himself. He couldn’t say it was the only time he’s done so. There were a frightfully many things rattling around in his ribcage that he had grown too used to squashing down, as if doing so were a part of his DNA at this point. If he couldn’t be honest with himself out there, perhaps in here, where he wore a different sort of mask, he could. In a strange way, sometimes it was easier to be himself when playing this character. What lesson was there to be learned here?

“Doctor,” Garak murmured, breaking him from his trance. “I believe the program’s about to end.” He nodded in the direction of the sky, where a red countdown timer had appeared and was floating in mid-air. It indicated twenty seconds. “It seems we didn’t get a chance to toast that champagne. I do hope, however, that should you find yourself in need of a partner again, you consider me.” He bowed his head graciously, and Julian had a moment of panic as he realized the character he made would be lost.

“Computer, freeze program!” he sputtered, and the countdown halted with five seconds to spare. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Computer, save and deactivate character Elim Garak.”

The system voice echoed through the city square. “Character saved.”

Garak disappeared, and once he resumed the program, after a few seconds so did the rest of the landscape around him. He stood in the empty holosuite, surrounded by blinking consoles and neon diodes. His allotted two hours of off-duty relaxation were up, but as he trudged back to his quarters to change into his uniform for another shift, he hoped this new game of his didn’t have to end just yet. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick intermission to check up on the world outside the holosuites.  
> Garak's day-drinking makes an appearance, though if he had any idea what was in store he'd have had more than one shot.

Garak pinched and hemmed the final ruffle on the puffed sleeve of an exceedingly loud and ostentatious pink wedding dress. He stepped back to assess the cotton candy monstrosity, and conceded tiredly that this was, in fact, the best possible outcome he could hope for with this piece. After he’d just barely made the deadline on his commission for Captain Boday’s niece, the overwhelmingly positive reception had prompted the young lady to recommend his services to one of her close friends, another Gallamite. Where he once had to master the art of extracting information from a vast assortment of alien species, he now busied himself with the challenge of dressing them all. While the gown was so horrendously gaudy even Lwaxana Troi would think twice about donning it in public, it _was_ what the client had ordered, down to the stitch. At least the color would complement her large brain, quite visible through her transparent skull. More commissions meant more income, which never hurt when Garak’s own tastes in fashion bordered on luxury, but it did eat up his time and the past couple of weeks had seen him holed up in his shop working late hours almost every night. He rubbed his bleary eyes, nearly stabbing himself with an errant pin he’d forgotten was between his fingers. That was a sign he desperately needed rest.

“Computer, time,” he muttered wearily, surveying the mess of fabric rolls and swatches, tools, and the half-melted Delavian chocolates he’d let sit out on the worktable earlier that evening.

“The time is 0100 hours.”

He groaned, having sabotaged another chance at a decent night’s sleep, and stretched his aching back. Sitting hunched on his stool for hours at a time did nothing for his aging husk of a body, but there was little he could do when he was under such time constraints.

As he gathered his things and turned out the lights, heading to the wall pad to lock up, he regretted how his heavy workload had made him miss out on time he could have spent with Julian. Just last week, he was forced to rather tersely decline his friend’s invitation to the holosuites for another installment of the Terran spy program. He really hadn’t meant to snap at Julian like he did, but the pressure was getting to him and if only Julian could see that he really did not have time to indulge the Doctor’s boyish fantasies…

Garak reminded himself to unclench his jaw as he ambled sluggishly across the Promenade to the habitat ring. He could just faintly hear the delighted shrieks of _Dabo!_ drifting down the walkway from Quark’s. A small part of him considered turning around and splurging on a glass of top-shelf kanar to take the edge off, but he’d accumulated too much of a sleep deficit to justify the detour this time.

Besides, the misery was worth it after all; not only was the commission completed on schedule, but it meant tomorrow he would be able to make it up to Julian. He’d promised a rain check for the holosuite reservation, and while the Doctor ended up going alone that day he agreed to meet him the same time next week. He’d given up on trying to convince Julian to run a more befitting program, and eventually joined him on those rare occasions where he could muster the patience and self-control to stand idly by as the man he so fancied canoodled with woman after empty-headed, holographic woman, with apparently no awareness of his effrontery. Garak shook his head. Enough of that – no matter how the program offended his sensibilities (and it did in more ways than the one), now that his work responsibilities had been satisfied, he would relish any attention Julian would afford him after so long cooped up alone in his shop. Besides, he thought to himself as he collapsed onto his bed, he rather liked how his figure looked in a tux.

\---

“What do you mean you’re _cancelling_?”

Garak looked positively aghast as he faced Julian in the doorway of his shop. Julian fidgeted, trying to find the right words.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know it seems like we keep missing each other, but…” he trailed off, hands grasping at air. “It’s been incredibly hectic in the infirmary lately, I’ve barely had a second to myself all week and it shows no signs of slowing down.” He dropped into a chair, limbs splayed about. “This morning I received a directive from Starfleet Command to put all my resources towards mapping the chemical composition of ketracel white.”

“What for?”

“Not sure, but somehow I doubt it’s to help liberate the Jem’Hadar from their genetically induced addiction like I’ve recommended so many times before,” he huffed, and Garak could read the resignation in his expression. “I’ll be tied up in the lab for the rest of the day, there’s no way I can weasel my way out of it for our holosuite session.”

Garak sighed in disappointment, and then took a brief moment to marvel at himself, somehow having been looking forward to the very thing he insisted he deplored. He’d have to congratulate Julian on refining his skills of manipulation.

“Well, then there’s nothing for it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I hope you can still find time in your busy schedule to have lunch on Tuesday?”

Julian gave him a lopsided smile. “I’ll do what I can. Thanks for understanding.”

“Don’t thank me, Doctor,” Garak said. “It’s only fair given how I pushed you out the door last week when my own schedule couldn’t allow for any recreation. Our little get-togethers pale in comparison to the importance of the work you’re doing to give the Federation the upper hand against the Dominion.” He came over and placed a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “We’ll catch each other some other time.”

As Julian stood to leave, he flashed a brief sympathetic smile at Garak. It felt wrong to lie to him, though for all he knew Garak lied to him all the time. Well, alright, he sincerely _hoped_ that wasn’t the case, but regardless… it was a necessary evil, and he’d make it up to Garak, he really would. After all, it was true that he’d been mind-bogglingly busy this week, leaving him not only no time to take another stab at this holosuite enigma but none to ruminate on what he may have learned from the first either. He’d gone to great lengths to rearrange his cluttered itinerary to ensure a free block this afternoon, and he was practically vibrating with excitement the second he stepped out onto the Promenade from the dim cave of Garak’s shop. He let his wiry limbs carry him back to sickbay, where he counted down the minutes until his chance to have another brush with the exhilarating and addicting brand of danger he’d discovered. 

\---

Garak nodded graciously to the departing customer, still holding the padd with their thumbprint that evidenced the very profitable transaction that had just taken place. He hummed to himself as he set the padd on the table and tidied up the shop, refolding shirts and straightening a few dresses on their displays. The computer chirped to alert him that it was 1300 hours, and he took his leave for lunch. Given that he’d be dining alone today, he scooped up a few padds with new design ideas he’d been working on and held them under his arm as he strolled across the Promenade. But, after a moment of deliberation, he passed the Replimat (and its long lines) and continued on to Quark’s. It shouldn’t be too busy at this time, and besides, he still owed himself that glass of kanar. He could afford it with the latinum he’d just made.

Garak took a seat at the bar, casually watching Quark deliver two black holes on a tray to a table in the back. He set the padds out on the counter and began perusing a few unfinished sketches.

Quark’s shadow soon appeared over the countertop. “Garak,” he acknowledged. “What can I get for you?”

He briefly pondered his options. “I’ll have the sem’hal stew, with a side of groatcakes.”

“You’ll be wanting yamok sauce with that, I’m assuming.”

Garak looked up at him from beneath his eye ridges. “Would a self-respecting Cardassian have it any other way?”

“Just checking. Pleasing the customers is my top priority. Anything to drink?” He leaned closer, elbows on the counter. “We’re having a special on Gamzian wine, it’d pair nicely with the stew, in my professional opinion.” He grinned toothily.

However, Garak’s gaze was set on the ornate spiral bottle perched several feet up on the shelf behind Quark. “Ah, kanar if you please. The 2257.”

Quark wandered off to retrieve a stepstool, and returning, carefully eased the artfully crafted glass decanter down from its spot. He quickly rubbed the dust off its surface and set it down in front of Garak.

“Should I leave you the bottle?”

That earned a hearty chuckle. “I may be doing good business lately, but not nearly enough for that I’m afraid. Just one glass.”

Quark brought him a shot glass and uncorked the bottle. Immediately, the sour scent of the well-aged vintage wafted across the bar, causing Garak to close his eyes and sigh contentedly and Quark to gag.

“That’s potent stuff all right,” Quark managed, stifling a cough. He began pouring out the viscous, shimmering orange liquid. “You know, I’m surprised to see you here,” he remarked. “I thought you’d be in the holosuites with Dr. Bashir.”

Garak reached over and slid the glass towards himself, raising it to his nose and inhaling its fermented aroma. Yes, he quite deserved this little treat for the painstaking (and dare he say without much stretch from the truth, _backbreaking_ ) work of the last two weeks. He took a long sip, savoring its intricacies, before replying. “The good doctor is unavailable for his usual sortie this week. He has too much on his hands in the infirmary, so he tells me.”

A puzzled expression briefly crossed Quark’s face as he gingerly returned the kanar to its place atop the shelf. “Well, he booked and paid for his usual two hour session today,” he said. “Although he did move it a few hours earlier. I was here when he came in, about an hour ago, all dressed up in that costume of his.”

Garak set the glass down on the counter, eyes narrowed. “You don’t say. How odd.”

“That’s why I was surprised. He said you’d be joining him. Seemed excited too. I reminded him that each additional player is a separate charge, but he didn’t seem too concerned.” He shook his head, muttering _hew-mans_ under his breath as he set about drying newly-washed glasses with a cloth.

Garak frowned. Well, this was rather unexpected. He usually enjoyed when the Doctor proved himself cunning enough to deceive him, but as he finished his kanar, he found himself both curious and unsettled by the situation. Perhaps he could do some light investigative work later this afternoon to parse out Bashir’s plans.

Or…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garak in shades ftw
> 
> [Please go check out the wonderful art of holo-Garak sporting his vintage aviators by Ecto-Geo!](https://ectogeo-art.tumblr.com/post/643416888017354752/garak-in-a-tux-and-aviators-amidst-rainbow)

Julian bounced on his heels as he looked himself over in the mirror, straightening his bow tie and running a hand through his hair one last time. He turned and paced back to the center of the hotel room, falling into an armchair. His leg jiggled for a bit, then he sprung up again and went over to the window, leaning an elbow against the wall as he gazed out from the high-rise onto the street below, thrumming with activity. Undulating waves of spectators danced and glittered in the sun like ants.

He’d skimmed the file on this episode’s plotline – it was August 13th, 1969, the day of the famous tickertape parades celebrating the successful return of the crew of Apollo 11, the first men on the Moon. _Ah, if only they had any idea how far humanity would go!_ Political turmoil was bubbling, as always, between America and the USSR. The entire Space Race was a big show motivated more by the potential for nuclear warfare than interstellar exploration, and the Soviets were poised to actually beat the Americans by a mere few hours until their probe crashed on the surface. It was surely nothing more than an unfortunate accident, but try telling them that. Now, MI6 in cooperation with the CIA had identified potential threats of retaliation, and put Agent Bashir on the case.

Always with the Russians somehow… he really would have to talk to Felix about diversifying these storylines.

Admittedly, Julian had browsed the rest of the file rather quickly. Something about an assassination attempt, mind control devices, and… launching nuclear warheads at the Moon? This was apparently going to be one of the more outlandish ones. But it didn’t matter, he’d figure it out as he went. He hadn’t even bothered to check what manner of lovely ladies he’d been tasked with protecting, and frankly he couldn’t care less. The plot seemed more like background dressing today.

Hence why he was jittery as a schoolgirl. Once more for good measure, he checked the fastenings on his shirt cuffs, and stepped back into the living area.

“Computer,” he called to the air. “Retrieve and load custom character Elim Garak.”

The hologram of Garak, just as he’d left him a week ago, fizzled into existence a few feet in front of him. Streaks of dried blood were visible on his dress shirt, and his left jacket sleeve was torn.

Julian grumbled at the sight. This was a new adventure, they should both start off sharply-dressed and looking their best. Not that Garak didn’t look good like this, but. Well. That wasn’t what he meant. He just… _oh, nevermind._

“Give him a clean tux, would you?” The computer chimed in acknowledgement and with a brief shimmer the hologram’s suit was restored to its pristine state.

Julian let go of a deep breath – _I don’t even know why I’m so nervous about this_ – and firmly, calmly stated, “Activate character.”

Garak lifted his head from where it had been bowed in deference, and with a look of faint surprise took stock of his sudden new surroundings. He went to brush the debris off his sleeve with a manicured hand and realizing there now was none, lowered it again. Julian was grateful he’d programmed this Garak with only mild self-awareness, otherwise uncomfortable conversations about the nature of reality and what constituted sentience might be in order. Whatever initial confusion Garak may have been grappling with though, as soon as he laid eyes on Julian, his expression softened to something that almost seemed akin to gratitude.

“Doctor,” he breathed in wonder. “You…desire my presence again to assist you in solving another mystery?”

“Well, not just your presence,” Julian chuckled. “I desire your quick wit and impeccable aim with a .357 Magnum too. But, yes.” _I do have a mystery I’m dying to solve, and I think you’re crucial to it._

Garak was practically beaming. “Oh, you flatter me.”

Bashir gave him a rundown of the situation, and they made for the elevator. This was Chicago, the second of the two stops on the parade trail. They were assigned to patrol for any suspicious activity and avert any attempts on the astronauts’ lives as they rolled down the boulevard waving to the crowds of onlookers. The parade in New York City had already been secured earlier in the day by other operatives, so it was likely there was a Russian agent here looking for an opening.

They stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby, shoes clacking against the polished marble floor as they strode purposefully to the door. The midday sun streamed in through the glass, and Garak squinted uncomfortably.

“It’s quite bright,” he muttered.

“Oh, hold on a sec.” Julian set his hands on his hips and looked up vaguely towards the ceiling. “Computer, give me a pair of sunglasses. Vintage aviators.”

The item appeared on a nearby counter and Julian went and retrieved them. He handed them to Garak, who inspected them and proceeded to rather awkwardly stretch the wire temples to fit over his ocular ridges. Julian could barely keep from laughing at the sight of the disgruntled, but appropriately sun-shielded Cardassian next to him. Garak did look more like a Bond spy now, hands clasped, stern countenance, watchful gaze hidden by shaded lenses. Well alright, maybe a Secret Service agent, which may actually be better given their task. In any case, it was admittedly a good look. Julian grinned, and Garak only huffed in response.

Together, they pushed open the front doors and immediately found themselves packed like sardines into the massive crowd gathered for the parade. Garak’s eyes darted about, shoulders hunched trying to maintain even an inch of personal space.

“Er, Doctor,” he stammered, “We should make our way to the front, so we can see the road. Quickly,” he added, a tad on edge. Without waiting for Julian he began pushing through the hordes of cheering civilians, getting elbowed in the side more than a few times in the process and handing out a couple in return. Julian followed best he could, able to weave through the brief openings in the ever-shifting human wall with a bit more grace than the stocky Cardassian. Finally they were spat out onto the curb, and relished a breath of fresh air. Garak looked especially relieved.

In tandem, they raised their heads in bewilderment to the scene before them. Paper confetti and streamers fell twinkling in the sun around them like a summer blizzard, tossed from windows high above where faces of families and children peered out hoping to get a glimpse of the action. The marching band’s lively concerto echoed down the block, and the rumble of motorcycles soon followed, eliciting further hoots and hollers from the onlookers lining every free space on the concrete as far as the eye could see. Somehow, in all of this chaos, they had to find their assassin. And from the sound of it, they didn’t have much time either; the clamor grew louder and clearer as out of the corner of his eye Julian could see the cavalcade rounding the bend. A procession of cars, flanked by police, rolled down the avenue. American flags waved proudly in the warm breeze as they passed by packed storefronts and apartment buildings.

Despite the pandemonium, Julian’s ear caught the slightest of sounds beneath the din. The click of a cocked pistol. He turned to his right, and found himself face to face with none other than Falcon. One of the man’s hands was in his jacket pocket, and it was clear what he was gripping. Julian’s jaw clenched but he remained stone-faced.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll come with me,” Falcon threatened. “Both of you. Now.”

The crowd conveniently parted for them as they made their way past to a more sparsely populated block, away from the commotion. It seemed odd to Julian that Falcon would lead them so far from his target.

“Now,” Falcon growled. “I finally have you right where I want you, Julian Bashir.” He pulled the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at Julian’s head. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long damn time.”

It was moments like this, staring down the barrel of a .22 caliber pistol that looked much too real, where he felt the urge to double and triple check that the safeties were on. Enough malfunctions happened with these holosuites that one could never be too sure.

“Wait,” Julian said, and Falcon did, because luckily this was still a game and a rather cliché one at that. “Why bother with me, why not just kill the astronauts while you have a clear shot?”

Falcon laughed, a deep haughty bellow. “I’m not here for them, Agent. I’m here for you, and your friend too. We don’t want any interruptions tonight at the main event. I’m just glad they let me be the one to finally take you out.”

So that was the plan. The astronauts, along with President Nixon and diplomats from over eighty countries, would convene that evening in Los Angeles for a commemorative banquet. All were potential targets. Julian might have predicted this if he’d read the rest of the file, but what was life without surprises?

From behind Julian, Garak suddenly sprang into action, knocking the gun from Falcon’s hand and shoving him against the wall of the nearest office building, putting a knife to his throat. Julian quickly drew his own pistol. As Falcon gargled angrily under Garak’s tight hold, the front door to the building opened, and a young brunette came into view. She wore a houndstooth pencil skirt and tweed jacket, and had the look of a reporter about her. No sooner had she stepped onto the sidewalk than Falcon made his move, using Garak’s momentary distraction to break free and grab her roughly, dragging her over to where his gun had fallen and picking it up.

“Weapons down, now,” he demanded, “or she dies. You wouldn’t let an innocent civilian get hurt would you Agent? I’m not here for her, so why don’t you do the right thing.”

If this were real life, Garak would probably just shoot Falcon then and there, betting on the probability of his faster reflexes and willing to sacrifice a hostage to achieve the ultimate goal. But there was something to be said for finding a third option, even if you had to make it yourself. He’d come to think that it was one of the reasons Garak liked him.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Julian lowered his pistol to the sidewalk and set it down gently. He threw a glance at Garak, who seemed hesitant, but eventually dropped the knife and displayed his empty hands. Satisfied, Falcon released his hold on the woman, who skittered away whimpering. Julian briefly considered that she was probably one of the love interests he’d meant to heroically save, and had completely dropped the ball. He winced internally. _Ah, well. Can’t win them all._

Seizing the moment, Julian grabbed Garak by the hand and yanked him forward, knocking into Falcon and catching him just enough by surprise that he fumbled with his gun and gave them a moment to duck into the edge of the crowd that was building as the parade marched closer. They were instantly lost in the hum of activity, and could hear Falcon’s snarl of frustration – he wasn’t prepared to draw his firearm on civilians, inciting panic and creating a security threat that would undoubtedly result in the cancellation of the state dinner. Instead, he quickly holstered his pistol and pursued them through the throngs of distracted parade-goers. Julian tugged Garak onward, confetti and streamers of all colors raining down from above, masking their escape. As they waded doggedly through the crowd, Falcon fell further and further behind, until he dropped out of sight. A couple of blocks down, they broke free and darted into the mouth of an alleyway.

Julian was grinning ear to ear, brushing a rainbow of confetti out of his hair. Garak removed his sunglasses so he could wipe his face of the stuff as well, folding them and tucking them into the collar of his shirt. Those startling blue eyes met his, and Garak broke into a wide, disarmingly genuine smile to match. Something ticklish blossomed within Julian, and his laughter just kept bubbling up of its own accord. He felt _incredible_. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, riding that high from the chase, and oh, he felt so alive, more alive than the real world could give him these days with the war looming over their heads. It was as if cynicism and somber silence were their duty at this point, and it was sapping him of his vitality. But here, all of that was just a little farther away.

Julian heard heavy footfalls approaching, and in a flash Garak lunged out and caught Falcon in a vice grip as he ran past. Lost in his jubilation, Julian was unfazed as Garak, still smiling warmly at him, neatly snapped the man’s neck, letting his limp body crumple to the ground. In that moment, the curious thought occurred to Julian that maybe the joy, the _freedom_ , which filled him wasn’t born so much from the place he was in as the company he kept. He felt on the precipice of a strange and marvelous liberation, but it backed down and away from the edge. The energy that buzzed through his body fizzled out at last, and he was back in reality – well, figuratively at least.

The astronauts and their motorcade had passed them, continuing on down the boulevard unharmed. They had never been in any danger here, which meant the real threat still lay in wait. At some point he’d let go of Garak’s hand, which curiously disappointed him. He thought back briefly to the woman they’d left behind who may have represented a significant plot point in the program. She probably had some suggestive name or another, a hint to what tantalizing rewards would be in store for him. Try as he may though, he couldn’t muster the interest to go back for her. Why bother with these one-dimensional throwaway characters, when the most captivating one was right in front of him? The game’s damsels in distress freely offered everything he could dream of, but Garak… Garak challenged him to define what it was he truly wanted, and to take it. Julian hoped that by the end of this mission, he’d know for certain. Leaving Falcon’s body where it was, they stepped over it and out of the alleyway, blending into the dispersing crowd and heading for their hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing more romantic than a little neck-snapping, amirite? Calm down Garak, you're enjoying that too much. On second thought, so are you Julian.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this chapter the Julian angst extravaganza. Self-deprecating internal monologue ahoy!
> 
> The song referenced is 'Somebody to Love' by Jefferson Airplane, feel free to listen to get into the headspace hehe. You will come to realize that given the runtime of the song, Julian thinks too fast, and Garak definitely drives too fast.

Approaching the entrance to the hotel lobby, Julian remarked loudly and conspicuously, “Well, it looks like we _really_ need to get to Los Angeles in time for the state dinner…”

He pulled the door open, and the two of them walked through and out into the pleasantly warm California night air. It would have been quite the extraordinary bending of space-time had they not been in a simulation, but that was the magic of the holosuites after all. They inhaled the sea breeze, laden with the pungent scent of wrack and old salt-sodden wood. Dark waves lapped against the supports for the dock beneath their feet, and Julian realized they must have landed at Santa Monica Pier. From the looks of it, their magic doorway had rather unceremoniously turned out to be that of the public men’s restroom on this end. Given that the sun was already down, Julian estimated that the banquet had started some time ago. He trusted that the program put him when and where he ought to be to make an audacious and flashy entrance in the nick of time, but that meant they had to get a move on.

He and Garak strode briskly down the boardwalk, passing neon-lit arcades and kitschy seafood joints whose outdoor seating areas were packed full under the star-speckled sky. Julian briefly turned his head at a couple holding hands who were taking their time strolling the other way. This was a rather romantic venue, he supposed, especially with the absolutely gorgeous weather this evening and the moonlit ocean stretching to the horizon, like endless possibilities… _Moon. Stay on track, Julian!_ He’d fallen behind Garak a bit, and hustled to catch up. Garak glanced at him amused, a flicker of moonlight illuminated in his eyes. Julian nearly tripped over himself. _Moon, moon, moon._ Approaching the end of the boardwalk they took a set of stairs down to the parking lot, and quickly came upon a row of motorcycles in metered spots. Ever so conveniently, it appeared that the owner of one of them, a sleek black Norton Commando, had left their keys atop the meter. Julian wasted no time in snagging them, giving them a twirl around his finger.

“I got this,” he bragged. No spy adventure was complete without a scene where he got to look suave cruising down the freeway. But suddenly Garak plucked the keyring from his hand and took a seat behind the wheel. 

“Oh, but allow me, Doctor,” he said, flashing a coy smile. “I insist.”

Julian found himself unable to protest, simply staring stupefied at the space behind Garak. There wasn’t really time to press the issue, so he begrudgingly took his place on the back half of the seat, stealing a quick look around to check that no one was paying witness to his embarrassment. Did Garak even know how to ride a motorcycle? Probably not, but this was a computer-generated avatar of Garak, equipped with all the skills needed to play the game, so it seemed that Julian was riding shotgun, and that was that.

Garak stuck the key in the ignition, and the machine rumbled to life. “The Crown Plaza Hotel, correct?”

“Um, yes, I think,” Julian stumbled, feeling a bit off-kilter. The sensation only intensified when they began to roll out of the parking lot and Julian realized he was going to have to hold onto something once they hit the open road. He searched around with his hands but found little to grip on the sleek, streamlined metal body.

Reading his mind, Garak remarked, “I hope you’re quite ready, Doctor. I’m about to, as you humans say, put the pedal to the metal.” Julian couldn’t see his face but he felt a smug grin there.

In a moment of panic, Julian acknowledged that there was only one viable place to put his hands, and that was around Garak’s waist. He extended his arms but couldn’t quite bring himself to make contact, hands hovering in front of Garak’s broad midsection, until suddenly Garak hit the gas and Julian was nearly thrown off the bike. He scrambled to lock his arms around Garak as they quickly picked up speed, finding himself practically hugging the man, fingers bunched tight in the fabric of Garak’s dress shirt. _Remind me to never let this madman pilot his own runabout._

As they hurtled through green light after green light down Ocean Ave. and flew up the ramp to Interstate 10, Julian eventually unclenched, letting his hands rest more easily in a loose grip just above Garak’s hips. The experience was turning out to be more exhilarating than he expected, after getting over the initial awkwardness of clinging to his friend for dear life. He found a grin starting to spread across his face.

Seeming pleased with himself, Garak tapped the bike’s front console, and in an unspoken conversation from one element of the program to another, a built-in radio instantly appeared next to the speedometer. He flicked it on.

A woman’s voice, commanding with its tight vibrato and fiery vitality, began belting from the speakers.

_When the truth is found to be lies_

_And all the joy within you dies_

_Don't you want somebody to love_

_Don't you need somebody to love_

As the streetlights lining the freeway passed rhythmically overhead, sending them through pools of hazy orange and shadow, Julian’s thoughts drifted back to the couple on the boardwalk. His breakup with Leeta was still rather fresh and the wound stung. She left him… for _Rom_. Of course he was a fine fellow, with a good head on his shoulders, but when it came to appearances, well… he’d admit he was stumped. After all, his parents practically designed him to have the physique of an Olympic athlete and the flawless looks of a model. Setting him up for every success they could ever dream of, in all departments. _Yes, well, failed yet again._ The smile had slipped from Julian’s face, replaced by a hard line.

At this point he was no longer sure if the things he did to reject his enhancements were active rebellion or subconscious sabotage. Leeta obviously wasn’t the first woman to dump him, and he’d done his fair share of heartbreaking himself. His relationships just never seemed to last, and now he was coming to terms with just how much of that could be attributed to his own preemptive actions. Part of it was, of course, keeping the secret. Casual flings were fine and good, his overnight guests never asked many questions. Even the girlfriends that hung around a few months didn’t manage to get under his skin too deep. But true commitment lent itself to honesty, and worse, vulnerability, which he praised and craved in theory, but in practice at the first sight of it rearing its ugly head he ran like the dickens.

_Wouldn't you love somebody to love_

_You better find somebody to love_

It went beyond the logic of needing to keep his genetic information out of the hands of anyone who could expose him and end his much-anticipated career barely out of the gate. If Julian was being entirely, brutally honest with himself, he’d wager the fear that triggered that fight-or-flight response spawned instead from the terrifying prospect of someone getting close enough to see that Julian Bashir as they knew him… wasn’t _real_. Just a strung-together collection of sleek and shiny parts, resembling a passably normal human being so long as you didn’t squint too hard. A fabrication. The Doctor Bashir respected by his colleagues and by Starfleet, the Julian admired by his friends, was the painstaking result of a perfectly constructed and flawlessly acted pretense. Being brilliant, but not first in his class. Churning out just the right combination of fun, snarky, flirtatious, and make it not seem like he was running hundreds of scenarios in his head every second for how to proceed next. Garak would probably be proud at his ability to maintain the charade.

God forbid anyone dig their fingernails into the cracks, they just might shatter the brittle mask. He wasn’t sure what they’d find underneath. The holdover remnants of a scared child perhaps, or maybe just wires and circuits at his core. _Have fun figuring out who I am; I don’t even know who I am._ They’d go running for the hills. Or try to ruin him. Or, even worse, just laugh. There was a fair bit of that in his first couple of years on the station, and he’d tried to recalibrate his behavior appropriately. Still, he must talk too incessantly, misread the room more often than deemed permissible, or fumble simple social interactions, insuppressible little slips betraying that warp-speed computer of a brain under the hood. Consequences of his enhancements, these quirks, or maybe they were a gift and curse from Jules. He didn’t know anymore. Both, likely. Where did he end and the augmentation begin? Was there a tangible consciousness named Julian even able to be rescued from that mess, or was he just a parasite who had siphoned the life, the _future_ , from an innocent boy?

_Stop while you can, I’m begging you,_ he pleaded through gritted teeth, _before your mind splinters in a thousand directions about who or what you are and you have a complete breakdown here in this holosuite. Please, not this tired circular argument again._ Julian’s jaw was clenched, and the grip of his hands around his wrists had tightened again. 

_When the garden flowers, baby are dead, yes and_

_Your mind, your mind is so full of red_

_Don't you want somebody to love_

The fact that he had to hide away in the holosuites to escape the judging stares of his friends – his _friends_! If they were really that. They tolerated him at best, waiting for the inevitable slip-up to get a derisive jab in, remind him how they really felt. Even Miles – he remembered the things that the Chief used to say to him before they’d bonded over heroic battles and shared bottles of Irish whiskey, such superficial vagaries. He may have grown fonder of Julian, but it was still simmering under the surface, if Julian ever behaved too abnormal, that is to say, a bit too _Julian_ , in ways that threatened the man’s comfortable, traditional views of the universe and how things in it ought to work. He’d had to settle for Miles saying he _didn’t hate_ him. How generous, how reaffirming.

Lovers were fifty shades more complicated, which is why he tried to keep it simple. Best to let them be charmed by his intellectual prowess, help themselves to the goods on offer, then be on their way sooner rather than later. _They’d surely grow sick of me, the motormouth, the annoying, naïve, cocky little prat, dying to impress to compensate for the approval I’ll never get… I’m doomed, aren’t I?_

_Doomed to never have what Miles has – and I claim I don’t want it, you liar, you damned fool._ As if he could forget Palis so quickly. _I just accepted the truth that it was outside the realm of possibility._ That anyone would want to stay, or that he could ever find it within himself to let them. 

Julian took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was overreacting, and scolded himself. His friends did care. They didn’t understand, and they couldn’t, and it was necessary they never did, but he was seeing malevolence where there was none. Miles tried his best, and Julian was grateful for his friendship. _You have to be, how many others would have you?_

He forced himself back to reality temporarily in an attempt to ward off the nagging voice of self-deprecation. Snug against Garak, Julian could hear him absentmindedly humming the tune of the song on the radio as they veered off for the exit for I-405. _See?_ he told himself, _here’s one more person who doesn’t secretly hate you._ Despite Garak’s dissembling nature, somehow Julian could believe that was the truth. It had to be. It was enough to bring a hint of a tired smile back to his face.

_Your eyes, I say your eyes may look like his_

_Yeah, but in your head, baby_

_I'm afraid you don't know where it is_

_Don't you want somebody to love_

The wind whipped through their hair as they rounded the bend and Julian found himself resting his chin on Garak’s shoulder to keep it out of his face. Carried on the evening air, Julian could detect the faintest hint of a fragrance that he realized had to be Garak’s; it was delicate and clean, too subtle to be cologne so perhaps it was his natural scent? Yes, from what he read that was quite important to Cardassians, and if so then he should be able to trace it to… He discreetly lowered his nose to the collar of Garak’s shirt, and was proven right. The Cardassian scent gland was located between the third and fourth neck scales. The aroma was hard to pin down but was something earthy – sun-warmed stone, or fresh-cut timber, or rich soil after summer rain, maybe a mix of all three, or…

Heat crept into Julian’s cheeks. He was spending an inordinate amount of time trying to decipher this. It’s just that he’d never actually gotten close enough to Garak to smell it before, and frankly, well… he liked the scent. It was oddly calming. It reminded him of being somewhere with solid ground beneath his feet and cloud-mottled sky above, of belonging to a place and that place being a part of you. Garak carried Cardassia with him always, in his very DNA; what a fascinating juxtaposition to his own condition. His own genes harbored nothing but incriminating evidence he wished he could leave behind.

Julian inhaled deeply again, lips just a thin layer of fabric from the smooth matte scales of Garak’s neck, and felt himself relax, if only a little bit. Besides, if nothing else, this was distracting him from his dark thoughts, so he didn’t try to push the momentary fixation away. Incredible that the computer could simulate him down to the molecular level. He should be lucky that this wasn’t the real Garak, with Julian being so clingy and awkward and _sniffing_ him, dear lord. He supposed that was rather the point of this whole exercise, to poke and prod in ways Garak would never let him, and see what came of it. Curiosity did worm its way into his mind though; how _would_ Garak react to all this? He admittedly was making assumptions, and the hologram had been eerily accurate thus far, so perhaps…

At the thought of Garak being willing to indulge his eccentricities like this, something small and hopeful sprang to life inside him. He exhaled a shuddered breath, and propped his chin back up onto Garak’s shoulder.

_Tears are running down_

_They're all running down your breast_

_And your friends, baby_

_They treat you like a guest_

In record time, which again was cause for concern when it came to ever letting Garak take the helm on even the dinkiest of shuttlecraft, they pulled off the interstate and onto Santa Monica Blvd, forcing Garak to slow to a respectable speed.

Julian picked up the pieces of his fractured psyche, sticking them back where they’d fit in some semblance of order. He was relieved to have avoided a total meltdown, and in front of Garak no less, hologram or not. Still, there was one shard that just wasn’t quite slotting in place, and he turned it over in his mind in probing examination. Questions about who he was were getting him nowhere, as usual. Paranoia regarding friendships wasn’t anything new either, and was frankly something he could live with. But love… this was still an open forum, and there must be a lesson here. Otherwise, he’d just have cycled through the regular attractions on display in his circus freak show with nothing to show for it. He twirled the shard about gently, like cool glass, watching a prism of light split and scatter as it passed through. He wondered where it belonged, and what he needed to make it fit there. 

Julian was in truth a lonely man, and spending his off-duty hours on short-lived trysts with nearly every available woman on the station (plus a few men) wasn’t having the intended effect. He was a doctor after all, he should recognize when a treatment was alleviating symptoms but failing to address the root cause. He couldn’t go on forever like this, hopping from one willing customer to the next. It was safe, but it wasn’t fulfilling. He knew he’d regret it down the road, if he could overcome the crushing despair that he deserved nothing more. What he truly craved was an equal, a partner both intellectually and spiritually, someone to share the wondrous experiences of life with, and face with greater strength together than apart the struggles too. Oh, that was the naïve but enduringly hopeful part of him that imagined himself actually earning someone’s complete trust, and giving it in return. To nurture a trust that intimate, where he felt safe and accepted enough to confide his demons if he so chose – or not, with like understanding, though he dreadfully wanted to – was something rare and special and almost definitely out of reach for a Frankensteinian creature like him. Imagine, mutual support, _healing_ even. The ludicrous thought made him want to throw his head back and laugh. He’s crunched the numbers (many, _many_ times), and the odds were perpetually dismal. But he was here, now, willing to run them yet again, because he simply refused to surrender completely. Probabilities were not infallible. Maybe he’s made too many assumptions in his calculations. What kind of doctor would he be to give up on a patient, even if the patient was a lost cause like him?

_Wouldn't you love somebody to love_

_You better find somebody to love…_

Tears streaked across his cheeks, and as much as Julian wanted to blame it on the dry wind pummeling his face, that would just be continuing to avoid the truth. They weren’t tears of sorrow, not anymore. They were tears of release, of uncertainty and fear and doubt, and maybe just a little bit of desperate hope that he could be wrong about this. He would give anything to be wrong, just this one time.

The song faded out into looping riffs of distorted electric guitar and smashing cymbals, and Julian chuckled under his ragged breath. Had he really been sent on this spiraling tangent because of what was playing on the radio? How easily influenced humans were by their immediate surroundings. _Guess that makes me human, doesn’t it?_ He allowed himself to find respite in that, if only for now.

Nevertheless, he’d been started on this disconcerting train of thought, careening towards its final destination, and he refused to let be it derailed this time. _Not again. Not anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But wait! There's more! Our dear doctor isn't done with his existential crisis just yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julian: *is like, this close to having an out of body experience as he tries to process what in the everloving hell is happening*
> 
> In which a dance with our friendly neighborhood lizard-man prompts a bisexual panic in the young doctor. Part 1.

Up ahead Julian could spy flashing blue lights illuminated in the night against the sides of buildings; they were finally approaching their destination and it was heavily guarded for the safe arrival of the many prestigious guests. This was the setting for the program’s climactic showdown, which meant Julian was running out of time to have whatever big revelation he seemed intent on to make this whole ordeal worthwhile. He forced himself to wrangle the squirming feeling in his chest before it slithered away, taking it hostage and dragging it along for the ride as they wove between the dazing strobes of dozens of police cars.

In front of the hotel the commotion had brought traffic to a standstill, and so they sat stalled on the motorcycle for several minutes before being waved on. Julian was quiet, idly contemplating his thoughts in a fragile state of tranquility. His hands were still nestled around Garak’s waist, though he’d relaxed his body back to give a few inches space between them. Without the constant bombardment to his senses from their high-speed cruise, Julian could feel the slow rise and fall of Garak’s chest from each breath beneath his fingers.

Given the alright, they pulled up to the dropoff area behind a long line of limousines, government vehicles with tinted windows, and other posh modes of transport of the era. While the banquet had begun some time ago, it appeared plenty were still filing in, content to eschew the initial diplomatic mingling that preceded the President’s address and award ceremony. A cacophony of car doors slamming, greetings and small talk, and police-directed traffic made it all but impossible to hear what Garak was trying to tell him. He leaned forward to get a better listen, hoping Garak would repeat his remark, which he did.

“I said, I presume you have a plan for how we are to gain admittance to this event, Doctor?”

Garak turned his head halfway to meet his gaze and Julian found himself mere inches away from the man’s face.

“Uh, uh, yes,” he stumbled, suddenly wishing Garak would stop looking him right in the eye, “We should be on the guest list, and if you look in your suit pocket you should find a fake ID which will get us past the security checkpoint.” To his relief, Garak turned the other way to check his pocket, and produced what resembled a driver’s license, with a small square photo of him in the corner. He huffed in distaste.

“They could have at least captured my good side,” he muttered, and briefly flicked his gaze up to Julian before lowering the kickstand with the toe of his shoe. They sat there for some time in silence, watching stragglers trickle in around them, before Garak finally piped up.

“If you’re quite ready, _Agent_ …”

With a start, Julian realized he was still holding onto Garak, and hastily withdrew his hands. He found himself immediately missing the comforting warmth as it dissipated from his palms, and felt a pang of regret that their joyride was over.

The pang, however, did not recede as the pair adjusted their bow ties and strode willfully up to the guards at the door. Curiously, it kept pulsing in his ribcage as they displayed their forged documents, met with approval, and continued on past the valet, Garak dropping the keys into the man’s outstretched hand on the way by. The pulses evened out into more of a low, steady burn in his gut that inflamed the writhing emotions already captive there, and Julian, whose mind usually moved a mile a minute, seemed to follow his companion in a daze, head swirling with his recent meditations.

Upon entering the lobby, high ceilings bathed in the scintillating silver light of lavish crystal chandeliers, Garak gently took Julian by the elbow and led him off to the side, out of immediate earshot of other lingering guests.

“My dear, I can’t help but notice you’ve been crying. Is something the matter?” His lips were pursed in concern. 

At the softness of his tone, Julian blinked and was roused from his stupor for the moment. “No, I, um…” he trailed off, lacking an answer. He just shook his head, brows furrowed, averting his gaze.

Garak reached into his tuxedo jacket and tugged a silk handkerchief from an inner pocket, offering it to Julian. When he didn’t take it, Garak sighed in exasperation and reached forward to dab the still-moist tear tracks from Julian’s cheeks.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” he tutted, “but MI6 needs you at your best tonight, and that doesn’t include looking like you’ve just had your heart broken by one of your lady loves.” He folded the handkerchief and placed it back in his pocket. “I do hope the tasks ahead of us aren’t the source of your anxiety. I’d thought you’d come to appreciate the necessity of swift and decisive action when so much hangs in the balance.”

Julian’s mind had drawn a blank, stunned by the fact that he’d just allowed Garak to do that, and that Garak for some reason was willing to. _Doting_ was not a side of Garak he often saw, and certainly not directed at him. Occasionally a crestfallen Molly O’Brien would come dragging her feet into the shop with Keiko at a time when Julian was hanging around (generally making Garak’s life more difficult), and upon reaching up and handing the tailor a torn jumper or leggings, an uncharacteristic tenderness would emerge, and without fail be vehemently denied upon later interrogation. It was a part of himself that Garak rarely allowed those not in his confidence to observe – no doubt a lesson drilled into him by the Obsidian Order – and yet it was clear that it existed nonetheless under that well-guarded veneer. 

Thinking harder on it, Julian could recall a moment of open-faced honesty from the man during an exchange outside an airlock two years ago, upon being handed Delavian chocolates for what turned out to be quite the fateful journey. It had been a simple parting gift, but it seemed the intent behind it struck Garak as surprisingly profound. Julian would never forget how earnest, how… _vulnerable_ , his murmured words of thanks were to him then. And that smile, cautious but breathtakingly genuine, a stark departure from the Cardassian’s usual wide teasing grin. He would never forget the way Garak had looked at him, as if that modest token of good fortune was the grandest gesture in the universe. Had he really known so little kindness in his life before exile? Or since?

Now that he mentioned it, holo-Garak had given him a not-dissimilar look today, when he’d first loaded in and seen Julian.

Huh.

He let go of a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, rubbing the sticky remains of tears from his eyes and straightening his back. Yet, that smoldering ball of nerves pooled in his gut seemed intent on staying put until it had run its course. He was still so shaken up, flayed raw, from what had happened on the ride there, that any courage he could muster seemed mostly for show.

Julian surveyed his surroundings, and saw guests making their way towards what must be the entrance to the grand ballroom. He and Garak followed in their wake, shuffling through the doors and emerging into an immeasurably vast space that stretched almost beyond his line of sight. Garak retreated slightly at the flood of bright lights that hit him, but quickly regained his composure. On one side of the rectangular room was a wide stage, where a live band was currently performing. Countless tables were arranged on either side of the stage running for dozens of rows back to the far walls. In one area, tables had been cleared to allow for open floor space, and there hundreds of well-dressed dignitaries danced in pairs to the music. A smattering of rather spent-looking government officials and their wives loafed about at their tables, having waited long enough for dinner already, but the majority were on their feet taking part in the festivities.

“Uh…” Julian stammered, but before he knew it, the crowd pushed and pulled him onwards until he and Garak had ended up nearer the dance floor than the exit. Everywhere his gaze fell, he recognized some important historical figure or another. He tried to part the fog in his mind to recall which he was supposed to be paying attention to.

“Garak…” Julian turned and realized that his friend had disappeared. He scanned the masses but all were human.

All of a sudden, he felt a hand grab his, and he was swept onto the dance floor. Startled, he looked forward and found himself meeting Garak’s eyes. His mouth fell open, waiting for words to come out, though none did.

“Doctor,” Garak said, “Forgive me but you were beginning to attract unwanted attention.” He nodded discreetly in the direction of the Secret Service agents that stood silently around the perimeter of the room.

“Of-of course,” he stuttered, breath hitching when he felt Garak’s other hand wrap around his waist and slide to the small of his back. He was wobbly, ready to trip over himself as Garak moved them along at a brisk pace.

“Your hand, put it on my shoulder, quickly,” Garak hissed. Julian did as he was told, stabilizing himself on the sturdy network of muscle and ridge hidden beneath his partner’s suit. It was surprisingly firm. He tried not to dwell on it, but felt himself failing.

Now in proper pose, they took up a stately waltz and melded with the rest of the partygoers. Julian was well familiar with the dance and so thankfully he was able to autopilot. He couldn’t figure out if the real Garak knew how to waltz (did they teach that sort of thing in the Order?) or if the program had installed it into holo-Garak’s memory. Either way, he was fluid as a practiced professional.

Abruptly Garak twirled them in a 180 so Julian now faced the other side of the ballroom. “Tell me, what do you see, Doctor?”

Julian stared over Garak’s shoulder. They continued to revolve slowly, giving him a wide view. “Uh… at least fifty Secret Service agents, another twenty or so security guards from the local PD…”

“Precisely. I hope you’re paying attention Julian, if we are to pull this off we must account for every variable, every contingency.”

Julian was trying to focus, he really was. But his head was starting to swim again, a tumble of thoughts beginning to break through his already weakened mental dam.

“Well, the way I see it,” Julian heard himself say, “until the major players show their hand there’s nothing to do but enjoy ourselves.”

Garak blinked, and assessed him in that calculating way of his. After a moment, he exhaled, and smiled a little. “I agree.”

With that, they fell quiet, and Julian allowed himself to be led as they waltzed their way around the dance floor in wide circles, Garak using the opportunity to continually survey each quadrant of the room. Oh, but he did it so gracefully, with only the subtlest glance, never lingering. Julian found himself entranced by it, watching Garak instead of the other guests like he should. They were mere inches apart, and Julian found with some disappointment that it still wasn’t close enough to get a whiff of Garak’s scent again. Instead, he noticed the intricate gradient of textures running down Garak’s neck, how his ridges tapered off gradually until they became smooth skin only sparsely flecked with diaphanous scales that caught the light as they spun. It was breathtaking up close.

Like the ebb and flow of their bodies moving in time to the music, or the tides beneath the moonlit pier, his thoughts drifted where they wanted now, seeking out the connection that would glue the pieces together. The warmth permeating from where Garak’s hand lay on him had put him on edge at first, but he began to melt into its protective embrace.

Elim Garak. His first friend here on the station. So utterly different from anything he’d known before, or since. The only person who, really, seemed to genuinely enjoy his company, without strings attached. Even after all this time, Garak had never tired of his wide-eyed enthusiasm, rambling tales of that day’s medical fiasco, or heated opinions on their latest reading. Oh, of course he made jabs at Julian’s idealism, nudging him to be less naïve and see the world for ‘what it was.’ But he never put too much stock in that anyway; he was quite certain Garak’s nuggets of wisdom were half-truths, veiled criticisms of the state of his own government he hoped Julian would take as his counterargument so Garak didn’t have to (and he did, willingly). Besides, if he came over to Garak’s way of seeing things, he’d start agreeing with him more often, and that was the last thing either of them wanted! Who else could Julian say actually delighted in disagreement? And with _him_ no less, who could prattle on for hours given the chance. It was such a stark contrast to his friendship with Miles. _Leagues_ apart. To think that they were both his friends, he wondered if the definition of the word could even stretch so far as to encompass them both.

Oh, Julian felt horrible sometimes. As much as people tended to grow sick of him, he very guiltily found himself rather… _bored_ , with others. Another symptom of his enhancements, he supposed. He sought higher pursuits, new challenges and ambitions. Darts was all well and good, though having to constantly self-sabotage took the fun out of it at times. But when it came down to it, Miles was the kind of friend Julian sought out to decompress. Garak _energized_ him, propelled his thinking forward with a new puzzle that would have him captivated for days and waiting with bated breath to hear what point the man was going to try and argue next. He’d sorely miss their discussions if they ever came to an end. He supposed he’d never considered the possibility of them _ending_.

More than anyone, Garak made Julian feel like he could be himself. He opened up around Garak, while closing a part of himself off to everyone else and their harsh expectations. Very rarely did he feel the need to hold back from expressing his augmented mental abilities with Garak; in fact, it was a large part of what kept their discussions so lively (and heated, in a thrilling sort of way, being able to keep up with the deadly sharp mind of a Cardassian). Would he…ever consider telling Garak about his enhancements? Rationally, a man like him was the worst person in the quadrant to reveal a secret like that to – a former spy, with ties to the Cardassian government and who knows what else. And yet? There’s no one he’d trust more with it. How odd, that this contradiction didn’t bother him as much as it should. Someday, maybe, he would tell Garak. How would he react? He could only hope with the respect and discretion that Julian had shown him during their trials with the implant. They’d reached an unspoken agreement then, that secrets could be entrusted. It gave Julian hope.

Julian realized at some point that the song had changed, and the tempo was slower now. The two of them had fallen into rhythm with a new set of steps, swaying more than dancing. Garak’s hand shifted slightly on his back, reminding Julian it was there. To his surprise, he found Garak looking straight at him, and wondered how long he’d been doing it. The thoughts lurking behind that placid expression and piercing blue gaze eluded him, maddeningly. Still, his smile seemed more on the soft side than the mischievous one, and seeing every minute detail of his features like this was making Julian’s stomach do somersaults.

What about all of this, about Garak, was so confusing? Where lay the ambiguity? What was this _thing_ , this fire in his gut, gnawing at him, demanding to be heard?

Garak occupied his own space in Julian’s mind, a penthouse all to himself. It was true, he didn’t fit with Miles. While on occasion he saw Garak as something of a mentor, that wasn’t it either. An idol? Maybe at first, but that had worn off once they got to know each other better. Julian had come to appreciate Garak’s genuine company just like the man had for him as well. These days the thrill of their lunchtime rapports spawned less from his desire to glean new clues to decode the enigma than to engage with someone who enjoyed their interactions as much as him. He cared about Garak, the man _behind_ the mask. Julian wanted to foster a place of trust for him, convince him it was safe to emerge from the shadows. He knew Garak’s past was messy, full of dark deeds and regrets, plenty of secrets that might never see the light of day, whether to protect Cardassia, himself, or even Julian. And that was something he accepted. But from everything he’d seen, treating his addiction, helping him pick up the pieces after the failed attack on the Dominion and the loss of his shop, he could recognize that Garak didn’t want to be alone with no one to confide in. Despite what Garak may think about himself, he deserved someone he could trust.

Staring off blankly into space somewhere near Garak’s left ear, Julian’s brows furrowed.

This all sounded awfully familiar.

Funny. Maybe… he and Garak weren’t so different after all.

He poked around in the penthouse some more. It, and Garak, had to belong somewhere. New building, old foundations, he noticed. He prodded, searching for a hint. An empty room, the air musty and thick, clogging his throat. Everything in it had been quietly boxed away, left to gather dust. He acknowledged the ghost of its former occupant with apprehension.

Palis.

It didn’t make sense. Garak was _nothing_ like Palis. Hell, if she’d been more like Garak then maybe she would have been able to convince Julian to stay on Earth with her.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow-dancing with a lizard, part 2.
> 
> Quotes taken from Nixon's and Neil Armstrong's speeches given at the banquet. Ambassador Dobrynin was not actually invited according to official records, but I've decided that in this spy story, he invited himself.

For a long second, there was nothing but blue eyes and clasped hands.

Julian remembered the way he felt the moment he first met Elim Garak. It could undeniably be described as nothing else but doe-eyed infatuation. This he knew. That Cardassian was the living embodiment of his fantasies, and he was so enamored with the mysterious figure that he practically jumped at the chance to be swept up in any escapade the man intended to take him on. And there was a breath held tightly there, when Julian wasn’t sure at all what form those exploits might take, coming to terms with the fact that ‘enjoyable company’ and ‘a new suit’ could mean many things and that he probably would have gone along with any of them. He’d been so eager to please, and to experience the wonders of the galaxy promised to him at the Academy. There had been an electric charge between the two of them that day in the Replimat, but it was soon channeled into an attraction to Garak's mind, a desire to learn his secrets, a lust for the thrill of adventure that only this Cardassian could give him.

It was so long ago, and things were _different_ now! For one, Garak wasn’t under the influence of his implant. And they’d grown to be so much more – he came to see past that alluring spy façade and found a lasting friend there. He had chalked that initial awkward fixation up to any number of things over the years. He thought all of it had dissipated, that he’d gotten it thoroughly out of his system.

Apparently not. He let go of a shuddered breath. Alright. He at one point was, briefly, interested in whatever Garak might have been offering, and… it seemed he still might be.

Somewhere along the line he’d started well and truly appreciating the subtle beauty of those alien features, that strength tempered with restraint, hidden beneath layers of exquisitely hand-woven fabrics. The firm but tender grip of a hand resting on the small of his back.

He swallowed thickly. _Ha, well they say it’s easy to fall for your friends._ So maybe there was chemistry there. Julian would be hard-pressed to name someone on the station he didn’t loftily believe he had chemistry with. But it would be silly to take this at more than face value. It wasn’t as if middle-aged Cardassian men were his type.

Well, not his type for a wild fling…

Just then, he felt Garak shift against him, and before he could think, Garak was leaning towards him. Acting on instinct Julian closed his eyes expectantly, heart suddenly racing. But nothing came.

“To your right,” he heard whispered in his ear, close enough to feel the air tickle his skin. 

“W-what?” Oh, he was very confused and a strange mix of anxious and aroused right now.

“Look to your right.” A little more forceful. Julian craned his neck to look, and as he did so felt the hand leave his waist and rise to grip his chin solidly, swiveling Julian’s head back to meet Garak’s intense gaze. “ _Not_ so obvious.”

Julian tried again, mimicking Garak’s subtle flicker of the eyes. In his peripheral vision, he saw a balding man in a suit shaking hands with a senator. His distracted brain managed to produce a name – Russian Ambassador Dobrynin. Their target.

He felt the moment slipping away. _No, no, no, not yet!_

Garak’s eyes were set on an empty table not far from where the Ambassador was exchanging pleasantries. Julian could sense him start to break their rhythm.

“Wait,” Julian blurted, and it caught Garak’s attention. He stared at Julian expectantly.

“It’s just that, well,” he rambled, “it’s been so long since I’ve gotten to dance like this, with anyone.”

Garak’s eye ridges raised a notch.

“Just a minute longer. Please,” he added sheepishly. His cheeks were on fire.

Garak appraised him silently, stealing another glance at the dignitaries. His expression softened, and he sighed. “I never could say no to you.”

A cautious smile teased at Julian’s lips. “Computer,” he said, “pause primary program. Keep secondary running.”

The world around them froze, so quiet he could hear his own quivering breaths. “And put that music back on,” he murmured. The disembodied sounds of the live players resumed, echoing through the ballroom. He gave Garak’s hand a squeeze, and they fell back into the flow of their footsteps, perfectly in time.

See, the thing was, you either loved Julian Bashir or you hated him. It wasn’t an unbreakable rule, but it was generally reliable, and one tended to know where they stood soon upon meeting him. Julian wasn’t used to playing the long game, to flirt or be flirted with without immediate gratification. In that sense, if it broke the familiar pattern it could become quite easy to overlook the fact that it was happening at all, and brush the whole matter under the rug. Obvious tells could be rationalized so many ways after that point.

When Garak had leaned in, brushing those thick armored scales against his temple, Julian had caught a whiff of that miraculous scent. He wondered if he could live in that moment forever, and then made the leap to something even fantastical. He imagined burying his face in the crook of Garak’s neck, filling his lungs, and he dreamt of a universe where he could wake up every morning and be greeted by that sublime earthy sweetness. He’d never contemplated, or even considered, a _future_ with Garak in any way like this. But then again, he couldn’t imagine his life going on and one day Garak just not being there. He assumed the man would be a fixture in his world, without any thought as to the action required to make that a reality. He wanted Garak to stay. Keep learning, keep sharing, keep _becoming_ with him. He wanted to know, and be known.

Garak didn’t live in the crowded high-rise with Leeta, or Melora, or even Jadzia, whom he’d fought for but in hindsight was glad he never won. He roomed where Palis once did, because it was the closest available space to where he truly belonged. Julian had never quite been brave enough to build the proper house, someplace to make a home and not just squat for a while until it was time to move on in search of greener pastures.

Julian Bashir was known, on occasion, to move so quickly that he missed what was building slowly around him, and within him. It had finally caught up.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he squeaked, and his legs nearly gave out beneath him.

The dam had been breached, the shard slotting into place with a satisfying clink. Things had never been so clear, and now that boiling, writhing mass in his chest burst. It sent a thousand butterflies up his diaphragm, fluttering through every inch of him, until he was left shaking. A tear rolled down his cheek.

Garak was there to catch him as he stumbled, wearing an expression of puzzlement laced with concern, and Julian found himself locked into that cool blue gaze. He managed to haul himself back onto steady footing, but remained trembling as he reached out a tentative hand and brushed his fingers across Garak’s ocular ridge, tracing its contours and individual scales with a feather-light touch. Garak’s mouth parted in surprise, but he remained silent, the faintest glimmer of curiosity and hope behind his wary, assessing stare.

Julian let his hand fall and took a step back. Awestruck, he raked his eyes over Garak head to toe, seeing him as if it were for the first time. In a way it was (and in another it definitely wasn’t – he had not changed, and neither had Garak; only awareness made the difference, shifting the kaleidoscope of worldly perception to new prismatic hues, and wasn’t that incredible?). With a spark of utter delight ricocheting in his chest, he realized he liked what he saw. He supposed he always had, hadn’t he? _Oh, if ignorance is bliss, then understanding must be divine ecstasy._

“Computer, resume program.” The hustle and bustle of the banquet picked up where it had left off, taking no notice as Julian slipped his hand into Garak’s and led him to an empty table.

Upon seeing Garak’s genuinely bewildered expression, a beaming grin broke out on Julian’s face. “All this time,” he breathed, casting a brief glance to the ceiling. “Have I really been that big an idiot?”

That earned the beginnings of a smile, followed by a soft chuckle. “You’ll have to be more specific, my dear.”

Julian rolled his eyes. _Cheeky bastard_. “I brought you here because I thought I could learn something from you. I hadn’t a clue what, and I don’t think I took it too seriously at first, but…” He sighed contentedly, and bit his lip as he shot a glance Garak’s way. “Let’s just say I’ve found what I was looking for.”

“I’m glad I could be of help…” Garak trailed off as Julian reached forward and rested a hand atop his on the table. He stared at it, then at Julian, that timid hope growing dangerously bolder by the second.

Someone on stage tapped the mic, and they both turned. The band had taken their bows, and now stood none other than the President of the United States, joined by the famed astronauts who would be receiving medals for their dedicated service. Their wives waved proudly from a table nearby, and members of the press snapped flash photographs from the foot of the stage. As Nixon began his opening statements, Julian observed the Ambassador a few seats over at the next table, communicating through an earpiece.

“Now, tonight we honor three very brave men…”

Julian turned back to Garak. “Please,” he said, letting his thumb drift back and forth across the fine scales of Garak’s hand, “tell me it’s not just me. Is there… _any_ chance? Would you ever let someone in?”

It was silly, he thought, believing a hologram would have all the answers, especially _this_ answer, to the question he’d only just posed to himself that had prompted the meditations which led him here. But the way Garak – rather, this projection of light made to behave like Garak – was looking at him now, searching his eyes for truth, weighing the risk and payoff of vulnerability, it seemed irresistibly real. Julian recounted the events of the last hour, and last week, in his mind, every interaction he’d had with this holocharacter. The program learned, tried to anticipate new outcomes and expectations, which made it susceptible to coercion, but ultimately it drew from its base settings, derived by the data input he’d fed it. It wouldn’t do anything Garak – or at least the version of him cobbled together from whatever files the computer could decrypt – absolutely would never do. Which meant that when Garak squeezed Julian’s hand and gave his soft-spoken reply, it was the product of a path the real Garak was capable of walking, given the right circumstances and quite a lot of oblivious flirting on Julian’s part.

“My dear, I already have.”

Julian’s heart had been pounding in his chest, and now it threatened to leap up and out of him entirely. Every lunchtime debate, every lingering glance or teasing smile, how the things unsaid always seemed to hold the most weight between them, which was a feat when the two of them blathered incessantly on about every topic under the sun. It had meant _more_ – not a game, not a proposition, and not so-called insipid Federation optimism either.

“We hope and think that those people shared our belief that this is the beginning of a new era,” saluted a new voice from the stage. Julian didn’t need to look; it was a man known well in Starfleet history courses on interstellar travel. “The beginning of an era when man understands the universe around him, and the beginning of the era when man understands himself.”

_Indeed._

Julian was filled with a singular conviction. He was back in the game, and ready to play for the big money. His anxiety was quelled by newfound confidence, and oh, here was _Julian Bashir, Secret Agent_ ready to save the day and get the… well, _you know_.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to finish this conversation later,” he remarked, smoothing his hair back as he rose from the table. “But I promise you, we will.” He reluctantly released Garak’s hand, and set his eyes on the Ambassador, who had also come to stand.

“We thank you for raising our sights, the sights of men and women throughout the world to a new dimension – the sky is no longer the limit.” The President wrapped up his closing remarks, and smiled genially to an applauding crowd. The group of distinguished men packed in for photos sure to make front page on the morning paper.

A hand fell on Julian’s shoulder, stilling him. “And where do you think you’re going without me?” Garak’s coy smile had made a comeback, and Julian couldn’t help but wonder – quite shamelessly now – how it would feel against his lips.

“As if I could forget you, my dear Mister Garak.” He reached forward and straightened Garak’s bow tie. “Shall we, _partner_?”

Garak beamed. Behind him, Dobrynin pulled a gun and aimed it at the President’s head, eliciting gasps and shrieks from the crowd. With that it began, and the rush of the action, of fighting alongside the man who had his trust and his heart, made Julian feel so very alive.

Secret Service men, some loyal and others double-agents, stormed them from all sides of the room as they tackled Dobrynin. Garak knocked the gun from his hand and locked his elbows behind his back. Julian surged forward and took the opening, pulling a syringe from his suit pocket and plunging it into the Ambassador’s neck. By that time several of the men had reached them, and covering each other’s backs they fought them off in impeccable Bond style. Having plowed down the first wave, together they heaved Dobrynin’s woozy body to his feet and draped his arms over their shoulders, proceeding to drag him from the scene through the swarm of officers and agents and terrified senators ducking beneath their tables for cover. A security detail quickly ushered the President and the astronauts offstage, preventing any further attempts on their lives.

As they dropped the unconscious form of Dobrynin onto the floor backstage, Julian and Garak took a moment to review the last stage of the mission. They’d have to split up; Garak would protect the Ambassador until MI6 arrived to transport him to a secure location where they could reverse the effects of the mind-control drug, and Julian would chase down the Russian infiltrator that held the nuclear launch codes and remotely disarm the warhead in the nick of time. It occurred to him that he hadn’t even encountered the second female protagonist, and that right now, he’d never cared less about winning a woman’s heart.

“Once everything’s settled down we’ll meet back in the ballroom, got it?”

Garak gave him an emphatic nod. “I can assure you on my life, if anyone wants to get to this man they’ll have to go through me.” Always a flair for the dramatic. But that was the fun of the game, after all.

Julian flashed him a roguish grin. “Good luck.” He sprinted back out into the fray, leaving Garak to guard the Ambassador’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh holo-Garak, choose your words carefully...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head when the OG is back in town.
> 
> The line in A Stitch in Time about how Garak feels about Julian shooting him always perplexed and captivated me. This is my take on it in a way I can reconcile, I suppose. Other slight ASIT reference just with the personal logs being a thing.

Julian waltzed blithely through the doors to the grand ballroom, spring in his step while he hummed a lively tune to himself. His eyes lit up as he saw a familiar tuxedo-clad figure awaiting his return. The program had concluded; this was once again the grace period before the shutdown, though he’d asked the computer very nicely to allot him a few extra minutes. He had some unfinished business to attend to first.

After he left this holosuite, things were going to change. He had to seize the moment before he lost his nerve. He would ask Garak to dinner, properly, and he would woo him with masterfully executed Cardassian seduction techniques – he’d leave no room for doubt in the man’s mind, whatever it took. But he didn’t want to waste this last chance to practice, gather just a smidge more data on Garak’s possible reactions. Would he be flustered? Calm and collected? Smooth, a straight-shooter? Julian figured this was a golden opportunity to test-run some lines before sticking his neck out on the real thing. If he fumbled his first intentional move on Garak, it’d be an embarrassment that he’d never forgive himself for, and worse, he couldn’t bear the thought of jeopardizing their friendship.

He sauntered up to his partner, giving him a blatantly lingering once-over and quirking an eyebrow in approval. Garak was smiling politely, hands clasped in front of him.

“Well Mister Garak, it looks like we’ve once again saved the day. I think a celebration is in order, seeing as we missed the chance last time.” He grabbed a bottle of champagne from a vacant table and poured them both a glass, handing one to Garak, who received it somewhat stiffly. “To us,” Julian toasted, clinking their flutes together and downing his all at once.

He set the glass on the table, and when he turned back he noticed that Garak hadn’t touched his. The man’s smile appeared a trifle forced, but Julian didn’t think much of it, too preoccupied with the charge building between them that seemed to suck the air right out of the room. He locked eyes with Garak and moved closer into his personal space.

“Garak,” he murmured. “You know I enjoy everything we’ve been doing, and I don’t want it to end. Well, that’s just it really, I… _never_ want this to end.” He blushed a little and dropped his gaze to the floor momentarily. “I hope I’ve made it clear enough what I’m going for here,” he stammered. _Not the smoothest, Bashir. Guess that’s why you’re working out the kinks now._

Garak simply watched him coolly, choosing to say nothing. They stood so close, Julian could hear and even feel Garak’s measured breaths against his skin. He was captured by a sudden desperation to know what it would be like to take that final step forward, end that ever-circling dance of theirs once and for all, fall out of orbit and collide. Maybe if he did this now, he could be more prepared for when it came in the real world. Or maybe that was the justification he tried telling himself to excuse the lapse in self-control he sensed coming on. What if he never did get the chance with Garak? He was still assuming a lot. They could all die in a Dominion attack any day. _Why pass up…_

No, Garak’s smile definitely didn’t reach his eyes, but Julian’s gaze was lower than that as he leaned in, surrendering to the urge. There was the faintest brush of lips, the most tantalizing sensation that tingled down his spine and left Julian pleading for more.

Before they could coalesce, Garak jerked beneath him, breaking free of his grip and pulling violently backwards. It caused Julian to stumble, and taken completely by surprise he just stared, slack-jawed. Sickening waves of confusion, hurt, and utter humiliation washed over him. This was an outcome he hadn’t anticipated in the slightest, not after everything that had just happened between them.

Panicked, and more than a little self-conscious now, Julian shouted, “Computer, end program!”

The ballroom disappeared. Garak, on the other hand, did not.

“How –”

Oh god. No…

“ _Garak?_ ” He mewled, shrinking.

Garak was breathing heavily through his nose, mouth a hard line. His eyes were locked on Julian, wild and burning. He was _enraged_. “The very same!” he snarled. “Or have you forgotten that I am a man of flesh and blood entirely?”

Julian’s jaw clenched, and he threw the Cardassian’s vitriol back at him. “I swear to God Garak, if you broke into my holosuite again –”

Garak laughed, a vicious sort of bellow. “On the contrary Doctor! In a strange twist of fate, it seems _I_ hold the moral high ground! I was concerned for your safety, and since apparently you named me as your guest Quark permitted me to enter. Here I was, thinking I was doing you a favor, only to find this shameless display!” He spat the words with contempt.

“Where’s the hologram?” Julian demanded. He regretted it almost instantly, as Garak’s frown turned even sourer.

“Let’s just say I’d like to see the computer try and reassemble his photons after what I did to him.”

Julian grimaced, too caught up in the imagery to reflect on what sort of twisted mix of jealousy and self-loathing might have motivated such violence. “Garak, you’re blowing this completely out of proportion. I don’t know what you think is going on here, but –”

“Oh, it’s quite clear Doctor that I walked in on an intimate moment, one of many I’m sure you’ve been having with that revolting excuse for a reproduction. So this is what you’ve been canceling our appointments for, to indulge your lewd fantasies with a mindless clone. Spare me the insult.”

There was fury in Garak’s tone, but the pained expression that accompanied it sent a splitting chill through Julian. He’d messed up. Big time.

“You thought your perverse reveries never had to end, that you could just slip away to the holosuites whenever you wanted a bit of _enjoyable company_.” He emphasized those words, making it abundantly clear that Julian had been on the mark in his interpretation all those years ago. “Well that _is_ what they’re for after all, so why not?” He gestured around the empty, green-lit room with open arms. “I’m sure Quark appreciates your business.”

“Garak,” he tried, but it came out strangled. “Please, it’s not like that, I swear. We haven’t _done_ anything.”

Garak feigned a pout, staring at him reproachfully from beneath his ocular ridges. “Lies are unbecoming on you dear, I thought we agreed to leave those to me.” He began pacing around the confined space irately, circling Julian but refusing to look at him. “Oh, I could live with your little victory trysts, holographic women rewarded like designer participation trophies. Bile-inducing though it may be, I had accepted the conditions as a necessary sacrifice to spend more than a moment of time with you these days. But please, do not debase me by relegating me to the same lack of autonomy as these vapid light-projections.” He looked almost haunted, gaze hovering absently at nothing in particular.

Julian took a chance and approached him cautiously. “Look, Garak, you have to listen to me. This has all been some sort of massive misunderstanding.” Garak huffed indignantly. “I made the hologram because you couldn’t make our d–” He caught himself. “Our holosuite time last week, and I… I missed you. It was impulsive, granted, but I really didn’t think it could do any harm…” He cringed internally. Yes, that was how disasters tended to start with him, rash decisions and good intentions. “It’s just that as things went along, I started thinking, and… it made me question some things. About myself.” He averted his gaze. “About us.”

Garak made a noncommittal noise, stare still directed elsewhere. “And you expect me to believe that it took you an entire week to have these revelations? That you didn’t spend the majority of that time making the most of this newfound enlightenment of yours?”

Julian pivoted a little closer. “You know I can be rather slow on the uptake.”

“After five years I was starting to think no uptake was forthcoming,” Garak muttered. He finally turned his head to look at Julian. “Let me guess, you found you got along splendidly with this holographic version of me.”

‘Well, I –”

“You simply couldn’t deny how smitten you were that at long last, you had your perfect fantasy. Swept off your feet by the enticing, enigmatic spy figure who could deliver the thrills you crave. Mystery, intrigue, forbidden romance even.” Garak gave a quiet, brittle laugh. “Was that all you truly ever wanted me for? Once I failed to keep you entertained after those months in the holding cell, you conjured up a simulation more to your tastes and left the original to gather dust in his tailor’s shop.”

Julian wanted to interrupt, correct him, desperately. But he felt glued to the spot with his mouth sewn shut by exacting tailor’s hands, forced to hear Elim Garak unravel like Julian himself had not long before.

“Am I only desirable to you as a malleable piece of putty, where you may smooth out my rough edges until they meet with your exacting moral standards?” Garak met his eyes, and Julian felt his guts twist into knots at the anguish he saw there. He spoke softly now, close to defeat. “If that’s so, then I will never be the man you want. I won’t compete with whatever idea of me you have in your mind, Doctor.”

Garak tsked to himself under his breath. “I suppose it’s my fault. We wear our masks so long, how could we expect anyone to see beneath them, when attempting to avoid such truths is precisely the reason we don them in the first place?” Garak looked as if he very much wished there was someplace to rest his weary bones, but wasn’t about to stoop to curling up on the floor with whatever shred of dignity he had left. So he remained standing, but uncomfortably so, like a maimed animal. “Besides, it’s the same as it ever was. I really shouldn’t let sentiment get the better of me after all these years.”

Julian didn’t quite understand that last part, but he could make a few guesses. His heart plummeted. He wanted to reach out and touch Garak, but didn’t feel he deserved to. And to think, just minutes ago he was on top of the world. “You know, everything you’re saying sounds familiar to me, and do you know why, Garak?” The man hazarded a glance at him, but said nothing. “It’s because I’ve been going in circles having this exact conversation with myself all afternoon. We really are more alike than we are different, you and I.” He risked a wistful sort of chuckle. “Which means your fears are just as deeply ingrained as mine, like…like the mask isn’t just _worn_ , it’s fused to your flesh. I know that’s hard to believe, because you seem convinced I can’t keep a secret to save my life, but…” _No, now is not the time for that._ “Well, after all this, the conclusion I’ve come to is nothing risked, nothing gained. It comes down to taking a chance. And it’s worth it to keep taking them, however many. Once you close yourself off, you’ve sealed your own fate.”

Julian rested a hand gingerly on Garak’s shoulder. He felt him tense, but not pull away. “My fears are well-founded, Doctor,” Garak uttered. “You have no idea of the _risks_ you speak of, not for a man like me. Chances are a rare luxury.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t. I just mean…” He struggled for the words, and tried again. “When I created the hologram of you, I tried to make it as realistic as possible, so it would react just like you would, with all your dry wit and your eye rolls. I didn’t want some automaton with your face following me around, I wanted the man who argued like it was breathing.” It was partly true, in the way that mattered. He had sought realism, despite his initial complaints, and he was glad he got it. “I honestly didn’t think the computer would have enough material to build something passable but your personal logs must’ve –”

Garak jumped from beneath Julian’s grasp, and stared at him aghast. “You accessed my personal logs to build your replica? Now Doctor, usually I would be the first to endorse a bit of debauchery in the name of intelligence-gathering, but this…” He slumped against one of the consoles. “I’ll admit I didn’t expect this from you.”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t hack into them, the computer did. I just asked it to draw from your file. It did the rest.” He leaned against the console next to Garak. “Honestly I didn’t even think you’d have any personal logs. You don’t seem like the type to keep a diary.” He tried to make that sound light-hearted, but it came out acerbic, and did nothing to ease the look of dismay on his friend’s face.

“Of course I had personal logs, Julian…” Garak sighed, doleful. “And they contained more than a few fond mentions of you. I see now why this facsimile was so eager to gain your affections.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, letting the weight of their truths settle around them.

Finally Julian spoke. “Garak, please believe me when I tell you that I didn’t do anything uncouth with the hologram. For a little while I was glad he wasn’t real, because I was acting like a complete git around him as I tried to figure myself out. What you walked in on, I… I don’t know. I was overwhelmed, and I think I just really wanted to pretend it was you, because I couldn’t wait to let you know how much I…” He exhaled, leaving those words caught in his throat, and covered his face with his hands. “Look at me, I did the one thing I was trying _so hard_ not to do. Muck it up. I was going to be all suave like James Bond and impress you.” He let his hands drag down his cheeks and fall to his sides limply. “Of course I would have rather had the real you here to play the game with me, Garak. You’re my partner,” he said softly. As soon as the words left his mouth, Julian realized their weight, and why the hologram’s behavior had shifted tone after hearing them. Even the computer understood what he was saying before he did.

Julian glanced down, and tentatively brushed his index finger against Garak’s at his side. Garak flinched slightly, but allowed Julian to make a second pass, this time hooking his finger gently around Garak’s, connecting them by a thread. “You really put up with all the things you loathe in here just to spend time with me? Even after…” He shuddered at the memory. “Even after I shot you?”

Garak turned to him, keeping their fingers entwined but bringing his free hand up to rest on Julian’s shoulder. “Correction. _Only_ after you shot me.”

Julian’s features scrunched in confusion.

“In that moment, you proved that you could play the game the way it should be played. I could never trust someone who couldn’t make the hard choices and do what needed to be done.”

His face fell. “Despite the fact that I could have killed you?”

“Especially so.” Garak’s gaze was intense. “If you had allowed me to exit the program, killing your crew to avoid hurting me out of some sense of nepotism, I would have been indescribably disappointed. I certainly wouldn’t have accepted any further invitations. My dear Doctor, when you shot me, I had nothing but the utmost _admiration_ for you.”

Julian could feel his happiness, his hope, draining from him. That had been one of his lowest moments, the kind that left him with sleepless nights and an overactive mind attempting to convince him he was a monster (and often succeeding). Between the way his innocence had been slowly stripped from him since the start of the war, and his (until recently) firmly held belief he was more robot than human, he had been horrified at this seemingly inevitable culmination of his fears.

“As if your approval absolves me of guilt. I hated myself after that,” he muttered bitterly. “That sometime when I wasn’t looking, I became the kind of man who could shoot someone I care about.”

Garak stared at him perturbed, lips pursing. He thought for a moment. He wasn’t the type to sugarcoat the truth, when he did offer it. And it wasn’t in his best interest to lie right now, not about this. One of Julian’s many virtues was the constant challenge to his status quo, and that included new perspectives on even the most tired of arguments. He cleared his throat, getting Julian’s attention again.

“But…” He tilted his head in reconsideration, “what impressed me even more was that you found the elusive third option, where no one need die. You valued both the greater good and the individual life, a risky business which I rarely judge worthwhile. Yet, who would you be if you didn’t? Certainly not Julian Bashir. You stuck to your guns – quite literally – and refused to compromise in the face of opposition. You tried for the bloodless route, but knew that if your aim had failed, and you’d killed me, it would still be the course of action that saved the most lives. You would have done everything you possibly could. I am not a noble man, Doctor, but you are, because you choose compassion as your weapon. I’ve found it fatal to chronic indifference. Even my own,” he added quietly.

Julian mulled things over in his mind for a bit with a pout placed so beautifully on his youthful features that it took Garak a great deal of restraint not to take the man in his arms and kiss it away himself. “You never cease to surprise me Julian,” he murmured. “It’s what keeps me coming back for more.”

Julian met Garak’s gaze from under his long lashes, a smile starting to form on his face.

“But I ask you this,” Garak spoke in earnest, “what will you do when it’s no longer a game?”

The smile disappeared, and once again doubt clouded Julian’s thoughts (and boy, wasn’t he tiring of this rollercoaster, but these were the costs of falling for a man like Garak). “What do you mean?”

“During all of this, you’ve had the safety of your veneer to fall back on. When there’s no miraculous escapes, no debonair mask to inspire composure and confidence, when your actions have true consequences my dear, would you still take these chances you glorify so? Would you,” he said, stepping into Julian’s personal space, “still pull the trigger?”

They stood there, breathing, gazes locked, for what seemed like an eternity. Julian studied Garak’s face, its provocative guise hiding what Julian realized was uncertainty, _fear_ even, at the question hanging in the air between them.

_Do you want me along? Through it all?_

Garak was right. Everything he’d said and done had only been possible because it wasn’t real. He’d needed one mask to remove another. It gave him courage he assumed he could never otherwise muster. Could he find it within himself to live the truth he’d discovered? Would things actually change once they left the holosuites?

There was only one way to prove it.

He unlinked their fingers, and saw Garak’s face twitch almost imperceptibly, lips drawn taut. But then, he slipped his whole hand into Garak’s, earning a delicate gasp. He led them to the exit, through the archway and back into the ruckus of spinning dabo wheels and harried waiters balancing full trays precariously on their shoulders. The lunchtime rush had the bar filling up fast.

Julian tugged Garak down the shadowed corridor and into the dim candle-lit opening to the ring of tables on the upper level. Those near them were empty, affording them just enough privacy. He backed Garak against the wall, a single word repeating in his mind as he brought a hand up to cradle Garak’s face.

 _Always._ Julian smiled. _Always, always, always…_

He leaned in and kissed Garak tenderly, who made a soft sound of surprise at the contact. He kissed him, not as _Julian Bashir, Secret Agent,_ but as Julian Subatoi Bashir, compassionate doctor, insatiable conversationalist, and eternal optimist. The man Garak loved. It wasn’t a suave kiss – he was trembling from his nerves – but it was warm, and genuine, and Garak melted hopelessly into it, intoxicated by the sensation, the scent, the taste of Julian. When they parted, they both needed a moment to recover their coherence. Julian’s insides were buzzing like a live wire.

Still close enough to brush noses, Julian whispered, “This is real. You’re what I want, you and all your fears, all your secrets.”

Garak looked undone. “I doubt you’d still say that if you knew them all,” he managed meekly.

Julian stroked the curve of Garak’s ocular ridge with his thumb. “I don’t _need_ to know all of them, not unless you want me to. What I _know_ is that I trust you. If you can somehow accept me with all _my_ flaws and _my_ secrets, then I’d gladly do the same for you. I always have, regardless. I hope you know that.” There was a flash of memory, of hands clasped in promise and soft words uttered in forgiveness, a leap of faith that bound them inextricably in spirit and led them here to this very moment.

Garak was starstruck. The only thing he could think to do was to bring Julian in for another deep kiss. A hand found its way to Julian’s waist, holding him close. This time when they broke away, they were grinning against each other’s lips. A third, a fourth, utterly giddy and breathless, locked in fond embrace.

Julian’s hands slid down from their place on Garak’s shoulders to loosen his bow tie, tugging it off and letting it fall to the floor discarded. Garak eyed him curiously as he began working on the top buttons of his shirt, opening up his collar on one side to expose a neck ridge. An interesting turn of events. Garak wasn’t quite ready to stop him until he knew where it was leading.

Julian leaned in and gently nuzzled him, warm lips ghosting along his scales. Garak had entertained similar fantasies more than he’d care to admit. He felt Julian press a kiss there, right on his third scale, and his heart fluttered.

“Ah, Julian…” he piped up, as considerately as possible.

It got the man’s attention. Julian looked over and saw the bewildered, yet amused, expression on Garak’s face. His eyes widened, and he flashed a rather sheepish smile back. “I’m…sorry,” he said awkwardly, as if suddenly realizing what he was doing. “This might sound completely absurd, but can I…smell you?”

Garak raised an eye ridge, lips curling upwards. “I was going to suggest that you buy me dinner first, but,” he suppressed a chuckle, “if that’s all you want, then by all means.”

Heat crept into Julian’s cheeks, but Garak shot him a coy glance as a go-ahead, and so he gingerly lowered his face back into the crook of Garak’s neck. Locating that special spot, he allowed himself to breathe deeply, inhaling everything that was uniquely Elim Garak. _Oh._ Oh, yes. He basked in it, eyes closing, feeling reality slowly slip away, nothing but arms around him and the scent of a home he might one day know beneath him.

At last he tore himself away, and he took a hazy step back, a strange calm washing over him. “Sorry,” he echoed, as Garak peered at him with quiet interest. “It’s just, the hologram, he, um… I wanted to know if you really smelled like that.”

“Oh?” Garak cocked his head. “And do I? Smell _like that_?”

Julian let a laugh escape from him, light as air. “Yes. But it’s even better, it’s… richer. It’s beautiful, really,” he murmured.

“Hm, well, just one more way in which a replica pales in comparison to the one and only original,” Garak replied, smug in his victory. “Rather curious though,” he added, “that you’d find yourself drawn to my scent.”

Julian furrowed his brows. “How so?”

It was Garak’s turn to look embarrassed, despite his best attempt to cover it. “Well, you know what they say.” It was hard to tell in the low light, but Julian could swear the man’s neck ridges had flushed darker.

“I don’t.”

“My dear, as you may know scent plays an important role in Cardassian culture, and it’s believed – at least by some,” he added quickly, eyes darting the other way at that, “that if a potential mate finds your scent alluring, it would suggest you’re… highly compatible.”

“You’re serious.”

Garak looked at him wide-eyed. “Would I lie?”

A grin broke out on Julian’s face, and he stared at the ceiling in fond exasperation. “I don’t even care if you are. Because I could believe it. I want to, anyways.” He missed the cautious smile that graced Garak’s grey lips for a rare moment before being tucked back away where it was safe. Garak had a nagging feeling it would be making more frequent, sustained appearances in the near future.

“I’m actually quite surprised you can even detect it. I wasn’t aware human olfaction was that acute.”

“Ah, well,” Julian remarked, biting his lip thoughtfully, “I have keener senses than most.” Putting that line of questioning on hold, he leaned forward to place another kiss on Garak’s lips. It was like being caressed by warm, supple silk, and it emptied Garak’s head of thoughts for the time being. He allowed Julian to deepen the kiss, tilting his head to sink into its bliss.

“Hey, you two!”

Julian pulled away at the sound, and Garak already felt the grating voice threatening to put a damper on his good mood. They both sighed in unison, and cast their gaze downwards to the main floor of the bar, where Quark was calling up to them.

“I hope this means you’ll come down here and order a celebratory round of drinks,” he cajoled with an impish grin. “Plus a generous tip of course, for customer satisfaction.”

They looked at each other, and couldn’t help but smile. “Drinks for everyone are on me!” Julian hollered down, and a cheer erupted from the patrons. He smoothed his tux, and handed Garak’s loose tie back to him apologetically.

They descended the spiral stairs, a supporting hand on Julian’s lower back. Something stirred inside him, overcome with what he could only describe as bubbling, insuppressible _hope_.

“Care for something yourself, Doctor Bashir?” Quark asked as they approached. “Garak?”

Garak turned to him, awaiting his verdict.

“I think I’ll pass, thanks,” he said at last. “Garak, if you don’t mind, I was rather thinking we could share a drink in my quarters. I’ve, um…” he exhaled, and cracked a lopsided smile. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Garak studied his face, searching for hints. Surmising it wasn’t bad news, and judging he could handle it if it turned out to be lascivious, his features softened and he returned the smile. “Of course.”

Julian acknowledged Quark, who was holding out a thumb scanner for his open tab. He pressed a finger to the screen, and then banished all further thought of the bar or its keeper from his mind as they strode over the threshold and onto the bustling Promenade. Garak’s hand found his and tentatively nudged his fingers between Julian’s own. Julian recognized from Cardassian literature that Garak was propositioning an intimate gesture, and refused to leave any question in the man’s mind about his commitment to this new, fragile thing they’d brought into the world. He interlaced their fingers decisively and pressed their hands palm to palm, feeling Garak’s grip tense and then close over his own protectively. They exchanged a knowing glance, and continued past the infirmary to the turbolift.

They received a few frozen stares and gossiping head turns, either from the costumes or the public display of affection – Julian didn’t know or care, so overflowing with silent pride and elation that he could only wave when the Major upon seeing them nearly walked right into the jewelry kiosk on her way to the temple.

Julian took in the feeling of this moment, absurdly serene, Garak a familiar, comforting presence at his side yet at the same time, a universe of possibilities stretching out before them that were – thrillingly – impossible to calculate. The only thing he knew was what he _wanted_ to happen, an astounding feat in and of itself which made Julian’s heart do somersaults. The certainty of that newfound desire grounded him in a way little else ever had.

They stepped onto the turbolift bound for the habitat ring, and as the doors closed Julian couldn’t help but giggle out loud at the irony of the situation, earning him an inquisitive look from his companion. Decorated head to toe in livery meant for playing the role of someone else, in a virtual reality game no less, Julian Bashir felt more comfortable in his own skin than he had in a very long time. His life was his own, and he was eager to seize the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, who would I be if I didn't include xenobiology somewhere in here? Cardassian scent-marking is my jam, and Julian's a weirdo who wants a piece of that action.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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